


An Edge of Darkness

by elfin, Macx



Series: Shadowside [7]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles can't let go of the unknown, so incredibly powerful mutant who nearly killed Erik. He's determined to find out who she/he/it is. But curiosity has a hefty price...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Four months had passed since their fateful trip to Shadowside Creek. No one had died, but the scars of the attack were still very visible. Erik bore them like all of his marks: stoically, not thinking about what his body looked like, actually more bothered by the fact that the creature had gotten the drop on him. He prided himself on his reflexes, his ability to fight, and to come out on top. Not on that fateful day.

  
He had pushed the case into the back of his mind, refusing to give it any more thought. They had enough other mutants to check out. In those past months he had spent too long recovering, training, rebuilding his strength. Reaper had taken over the cases, flown or driven to the places where Cerebro had registered a mutant, and she had been accompanied by various students or mutants who just happened to be at the manor.

Like Azazel.

It was weird how the red-skinned teleporter had started to live here. Before Shadowside Creek he and Riptide had come and gone, taking up slack from the teaching schedule, setting their own courses with the older students. But now… they had rooms, they were there every morning, and it was starting to be as normal as everything around here.

Riptide had taken a liking to travelling with the team and Erik had felt a slight sliver of jealously, which he had quickly squelched. With the number of mutants out there, one team wasn’t enough. Charles had agreed that they needed at least four pairs of mutants to cover all of the US and there were a lot more mutants all over the world. It was an immense task they had set for themselves and Erik knew he could fly all over the world all his lifetime and never find them all.

Azazel had given no reason as to why he had decided that now was the time to make up permanent camp at the manor. Four years had passed since Shaw’s death and Emma Frost taking over the Hellfire Club – without Azazel and Riptide. Those two had suddenly appeared at Xavier’s doorstep. Charles had welcomed them and while Erik had been suspicious, he had to trust his telepathic lover that Charles knew what he was doing.

As it had turned out, he had.

Coming back from his morning rounds, Erik nodded at Greg, their landscape artist, who was showing three teenagers a wildly blooming bush and explaining something about it. While his stint as a teacher had been meant to help when both Erik and Charles had been laid off as a result of the creature’s attack, he had seamlessly slid into the spot of the teacher. The children came to him, asking questions, and there were two who were very interested in flora. Greg had really taken a liking to teaching on and off.

Erik wiped his sweaty face, slinging the towel around his neck. The morning runs always helped wake him up. Sometimes Charles went along. Erik had been surprised how enduring his lover was. While Charles wasn’t a couch potato, he had a tendency to hole up in his study or the library for hours upon hours, type away, read, research. He was a scholar.

An adorable, loveable, sometimes a bit too idealistic professor.

Erik grinned, remembering last night. There was hardly any doubt in his mind that Charles Xavier was far from your run of the mill professor type. The body underneath those knit sweaters, Oxford professor suits and pressed shirts was hardly reason to complain. Nor was flexibility a problem.

Something curled in his stomach. Warm and longing and intense.

No, no complaints.

Walking into their room, Erik briefly looked around whether Charles was still there, but as not otherwise expected, he wasn’t. He took a quick shower, dressed in what Charles called his ‘uniform’ – black shirt, black pants – and headed downstairs.

* * *

He hadn’t been able to let go of the girl. If she was a girl at all. Well, she was a mutant, Charles knew. A powerful, unique and gifted individual. He knew so little about her and wanted to understand it all. No reference text, no paper, no research had given him an inkling as to what he was dealing with. Charles was fascinated.

The girl was hiding, keeping the world at bay. She had chosen a decrepit cabin as her home. Or not?

With her ability to manifest creatures like the monster or the rabbit, she might be playing tricks on observers concerning the cabin, too.  
Her psychic abilities had to be off the chart!

Add to that the fact that Charles hadn’t been able to get a telepathic fix on her, she had become close to an obsession. He had spent a lot of time looking into this phenomena, had dug up all he could about Shadowside Creek, but he wasn’t any closer to solving the mystery of her origin.

The previous owner of the land and cabin had died a long time ago. He had had no children himself and the land had fallen to distant heirs, who didn’t care about it all that much. They had tried selling it off with no luck. The asking price was laughable, but with the history of weird things happening, no one was buying. The one time the ski resort had thought about getting the land, a representative had been so scared that he had refused to even make a one-dollar bid.

Charles had pondered buying the land himself to keep the girl’s safe haven safe. Erik had just stared at him as if he was mad.

“She’s managed to stay hidden for hell knows how long, Charles! You buying that land will raise more questions than keep her any safer than she already is.”

Yes, it had been a sound argument.

So he had poured over historical texts, ancestry of the last owner – Owen McPherson, 92 when he had died, local – and the whole family. There had been no clues as to whether one of them had mutant abilities. Mutants rarely stood out. They tried to hide.

With no luck the conventional way, Charles had started to look at Cerebro more and more often. Erik didn’t like the brainwave scanner and he hated it even more when Charles came out of it with a headache, disorientation or worse, a migraine from Hell. But Charles knew Cerebro was necessary for their work and he was the only one right now who was able to use it. Hank had added a lot of safety protocols and they kept developing the device, but Erik would never trust it.

Cerebro might be the only way to reach out to their unknown mutant. The girl was a presence unlike anything he had ever touched, able to ward off curious scans, and she appeared to be able to fracture herself. As if every manifestation was also a part of her.

Charles was burning with curiosity.

And he was a scientist. He needed to know.

So he decided to try something new.

Instead of using Cerebro to look for mutants, he would try to home in on the girl, find a way to contact her. She was no clear presence, but maybe, now that he knew that, she would be easier to assess. Maybe he could get into her mind, talk to her. Maybe he could finally find out what and who she was.

* * *

Adjusting Cerebro to his parameters didn’t take much time. Charles had learned a great deal about the device and he had early on realized that it represented almost limitless possibilities. Hank had planned it as a brainwave amplifier, but it was so much more. For a telepath it was like an extension of himself. Charles could reach everyone if he wanted to. The moment he immersed himself it was like a rush. The pain of the connection, the headaches, the sometimes-migraines, it all paled in comparison to the results he yielded.

Cerebro enabled him to find any mutant anywhere, anytime, any place at all. And since he knew where the girl was, finding her wasn’t a problem. Touching her aura was easy. He now only had to go through the mass of interference she consciously or unconsciously created.  
Four months ago it had been something completely unknown and never before handled. Now he knew. Now he thought he understood. He could do this, contact her, scan her, find out more about this unique mutation.

At least that was the plan.

*

He was in the familiar gray surroundings. Like a thick fog with shadows of people appearing at random intervals. All were dark, never in color, which told him that those were non-mutants. Now and then he saw glimpses of a mutant mind, but he didn’t follow up on it. He had a different goal. As he moved closer and closer to the one he was looking for, Charles noticed that other mutants became scarcer, then were completely gone. The over 7000 inhabitants of Shadowside were all humans. Not even the slightest mutation.

Curious.

He stored that information for later evaluation.

Now he looked at the colorful representation of the strong mutation he had discovered before. No shape, no form, no hint as to whether it was male or female, young or old. It was simply there. An amorphous mass that was bright and strong and alluring in its own way.

Charles stopped. He sent a greeting, waiting.

Nothing happened.

So he moved in.

The cloud of color drifted out of his way, parting as if splitting in two, and Charles was stumped by how little he got of the mutant.

“Hello?” he asked again. “I know you can hear me. Please, I just want to talk to you.”

The cloud whirled and he thought he saw strange shapes. It had no center mass. There was no definition to it like to any other mutant he had ever met. While scanning Charles had been aware of so much in every single mind he had met.

He had even once touched Erik and he had been struck speechless by the coiled energy and power, the sheer strength underneath a deceptive layer of control. Erik had just scratched the first few layers of his potential. Charles had once mused that with the development of his gift, Erik should be able to influence subatomic particles, maybe even gravitational fields. He had demonstrated that he was able to briefly float an object, though it strained him.

Looking at his partner’s representation in Cerebro he had felt this surge of wonder and love once more. He wasn’t singularly drawn to that power, but it was amazing and beautiful and wonderful and… and it was Erik. His Erik.

Now he was looking at something very different, but he felt the power. This was just another shield, something to throw him off. The mutant was able to manifest illusions, maybe everything he or she thought/dreamed about. It was an incredible power, but who was wielding it?

Going deeper, concentrating only on this one mind, Charles tried to determine where the mutant was. He sensed he was close. There was something like a dense center, a tiny black hole in the middle of all this whirling mass of nothingness.

“Hello? You don’t have to be afraid. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

He came closer.

And then he saw the shape. Dark and dense in the middle of the mind’s representation. It was coiled. Powerful. So very much like Erik. Charles was stunned that he still couldn’t make out who he was talking to.

Maybe it was the surprise, the hesitation, that briefly had him lose his concentration.

The next thing he knew the black hole bloomed, like an explosion taking part, and it overwhelmed his mind. He screamed, inside Cerebro and outside in the chamber. He felt the other mind rush toward him, taking what it wanted, and he fought back. Instinct had him fall back upon defensive techniques he had taught himself a long time ago. He raised shields, pushed the other mind back, and from deep within he heard the roar at the other end of the anchor line.

The anchor line!

With a strength born out of desperation and terror of losing Erik, he surged at the thing, grabbled with it, hauled it out of his mind and pushed it back. It screeched, surprised at his actions.

Protect Erik. Protect the anchor. It had been damaged to badly once before and Charles vividly recalled the pain and desperation, the emptiness, the voice, the darkness.

Not again.

Never again!

He lashed at the other mutant, stunning him. He had probably never met anyone able to defend himself like that, or anyone coming this close.

Charles caught flashes, images, recoiled from the bad taste of loneliness, abandoned hopes and the terror of human contact.

Then there was only the flood.

* * *

Halfway down the stairs, Erik lost his footing as just for a moment his mind went black and a wave of nauseating pain rolled over him. He stumbled, managed to stop himself from falling by grabbing at the bannister, and knew instantly what had caused it.

::Charles!::

He made it to the base of the stairs, feeling as if a war was going on in his head before determinedly blocking the confusing messages. Where the hell..? But it didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening, where Charles was, and he felt a rage that he hadn't felt in a long time.

He ran down to the lower levels, hammering on the door of Hank's lab as he went, yelling Hank's name. The doors to Cerebro opened when he got close, and he was inside as soon as he could get his body through the gap, taking the grated metal steps two at a time, stopping when he reached the platform.

"Charles!"

He was on his knees, fingers wrapped around the railing, knuckles white, infernal helmet still on his head. Erik crouched at Charles' side, hands on the machine, ready to free his lover who had sweat dripping from his forehead, eyes closed, eyeballs twitching.

"No!" Hank was running to the control panel, not even looking at him. "Don't take it off. You could seriously damage or even kill him."

"He's under attack!"

"I need to shut it down."

Erik was furious and helpless, hands on Charles' sweating, trembling body, trying so hard not to grip him and shake him.

"I can't believe you've done this," he said, knowing full well Charles was unable to hear him. "For God's sake, Charles! We talked about this! Hank!"

"I'm trying! Cerebro connects Charles with other mutants. One of those mutants seems to have made the link two way. It's connected with him. These readings are off the scale!"

He sounded excited and fearful at the same time, while all Erik could do was watch his lover suffering, battling, perhaps for his sanity. He thought about the anchor line, thought about using it, worried that he'd do more harm than good. He wasn't blocking now but Charles wasn't actively using it, Erik just didn't know why. He didn't know how, or if, he could use it. Charles was the telepath, the initiator, he used the anchor when he was over stressed. But, for whatever reason, he wasn't using it now. And that was the scariest thing of all.

"Hank!"

"I'm trying!"

Without warning, everything powered off. The lights, the machine... In the dark, Erik took his chance and lifted the helmet from Charles head. The moment he did, Charles went limp in his arms, falling against him like a rag doll.

"Charles?"

Pressing two fingers to the side of his partner's throat, Erik found a strong pulse to his extreme relief. But Charles wasn't opening his eyes, wasn't responding and when Erik finally tried to find him on the anchor line, all he felt was an empty hole in his head, much like he had felt when he'd realized their connection had been damaged after the mutant creature attack so many months ago. But it wasn't that the line was broken, just as if Charles wasn't at the end of it. It was difficult to describe, even to himself.

Hank had gone again, presumably to get help, but Erik picked up Charles in his arm, carrying him through the lower levels to the medical wing, relieved when Reaper met him in the doorway. Black eyes in a white face met his and her calmness in face of his panic settled over him.

Reaper might not have the best bedside manner, but she knew what she was doing and her no-nonsense behavior suited Erik better than any coddling. She didn’t argue with him about carrying Charles, nor did she kick him out of the infirmary. She simply started to check the unconscious telepath.

“Do you know how long he was in Cerebro?” she asked while running tests.

“No,” he ground out.

She only nodded once.

  
tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

For the next hour, Erik waited. He watched while Reaper and Hank wired Charles up to a myriad monitors and take reading after reading. None of it made sense to him; he wasn’t a scientist or a medical doctor. He had a rudimentary idea that low readings were bad, as were ones that were way too high. Since no alarms went off, he hoped matters weren’t serious.

He installed himself at Charles' bedside, took a hold of Charles' hand and tried to will him to wake up. In his mind, he sat close to the anchor point and searched for his partner, but there was nothing. Charles was unconscious and the anchor was silent and dark.

It was scary.

It also gave him an idea what his partner had gone through when he had ended up in the parallel reality.

Finally Reaper pulled up a seat next to him and told him Charles was in a coma.

"There's brain activity," she said calmly, "I think something... Cerebro... overloaded his system and his brain shut down to protect itself. Hopefully given some rest he will come back to us."

Erik’s world shrunk down to a single point, the one where he sat next to Charles and was holding his hand. The words echoed in his mind, painful and too real.

Coma.

Charles was in a coma.

Because of Cerebro.

A cold, dark rage burned through his veins.

“Erik.” Reaper’s voice was laced with a warning and he met her black eyes. A fine sheen of blue covered them. Compassion.

“I’m fine,” he growled.

It didn’t sound friendly. Hell, anyone else might have run. But Reaper knew him, had known him for a while now, and they had worked cases together. Rattling her with a few words was hard, and she had a temper, too. He had seen her lose it and he had watched Charles teach her how to handle her gift, which was terrible and wonderful in one neatly wrapped parcel.

“His mind defended itself by shutting down,” she reiterated. “Whatever hit him, it wasn’t buffered and his body more or less launched emergency procedures. All readings I have are normal. I can’t see signs of brain damage.”

Erik tried to calm himself, but the words ‘brain damage’ gave the fury more fuel. He closed his eyes, fighting every instinct to go out there and find whoever had done it, destroy them. He felt the metal sing to him and he forced down his anger before it did something harmful to Charles or anyone else down here.

He rubbed a thumb over the smooth skin of Charles’ hand.

::Don’t do this:: he murmured to the silent anchor point. ::Don’t do this!::

Charles was the professor, he was the teacher, he wasn’t the warrior. He wasn’t supposed to be in a hospital bed after fending off a telepathic attack. He was supposed to teach the children.

Erik stood and placed a kiss on Charles’ forehead. He smoothed back the wayward hair, smiling briefly, then he left the infirmary.  
Inside him, the darkness grew. It ate at him, made him blind to everything but the silent anchor and the motionless form of his lover. Whatever Shaw had created, what he had aimed to do with Erik Lensherr, he had given life to a weapon that was no fiercely protective of Charles Xavier, would die for him, would take out an enemy, would confront whoever threatened him. Charles would object, Erik knew. He wouldn’t want this. But Erik needed to do something.

And he had a target.

* * *

When Erik appeared in the maze-like underground level that housed, among other things, Cerebro, people scattered out of is way. There had been students training in the secure facility some had started to jokingly call the ‘Danger Room’, and which was an appropriate name, actually.

He pushed a hand out in front of him, metal bending and screeching under his will. Cerebro’s doors would have opened for him, but he couldn’t care less. Anger and rage and pain flowed through him like the beginning of a tidal wave. It was a tsunami in the making and it was about to hit land. Erik was far beyond reason and those few who had seen him had realized that. Sean had immediately made a beeline for Hank’s lab.

Erik didn’t care about that either.

He stood in the middle of the dome-like structure he had helped build. It was a far cry from version 1.0., it had actually been refitted several times, but the hatred in him didn’t care. The rage that drove Erik blinded him. Cerebro was the machine he'd helped Charles and Hank build, the machine that hurt his partner constantly, that drove him to the point of obsession and now had put him in a coma.

He couldn’t remember an occasion in his adult life when he had been this close to losing it, wasn’t even fighting for control. Only once, as a child, had he given his powers free reign. The very first time.

Back then it had been the beginning.

Today would be the end.

Erik screamed his rage out into the room, his voice echoing off the walls, and he raised his hands, fingers spread wide, and he let the powers flow.

Unrestrained.

Only a small part was keeping him from bringing down the whole house. A very small part that knew that up there was Charles. A man he would never hurt.

The helmet with its snake-like wires was still lying on its side on the grill floor, and at that moment it became the focus of Erik's aggression.

Picking it up without using his hands he tipped out the wires with his mind, launching the detached helmet across and up, flinging it hard enough against the dome's wall to crack the panel it hit.

It wasn't enough.

He was tearing into wall panels, circuit boards and wires. The helmet was crushed into a tiny ball of useless debris. The panels he had put up, honing his skills, were ripped off, the bolts bouncing off the floor. Erik flung out his arms and every panel started to tear itself away from its fastenings, some shattering in place, others clattering to the floor.

His body screamed. He felt the pain physically. He didn’t care.

It poured out of him and it sought a target.

Cerebro wasn’t really to blame; it was just a device. The mutant who had used it to attack Charles was, but that thing wasn’t here. Cerebro was.

* * *

The crash and scream of metal echoed throughout the cavernous lower levels. Outside Cerebro's doors, Hank paced back and forth with his hands over his ears, trying to make a decision. He wanted to march inside, to pull Erik out whatever it took, to stop the destruction half the school could hear. But thinking it through sensibly he couldn't begin to imagine how he would stop such a powerful man, let alone a mutant, from using his innate power he couldn't even begin to match. Besides, judging by the sounds coming from the circular doors he was already too late.

The silence that fell abruptly was as shocking as the first explosion of noise had been. Echoes of sound still seemed to vibrate through the corridors. Hank stopped, too, staring at the doors. The last thing he wanted was to come face to face with Erik. If he was unhappy with Cerebro, chances were that the guy who designed it wasn't going to fare too well, and while he was almost certain Erik wouldn't hurt him, he didn't want to chance a well-aimed punch even if it was thrown in the height of rage. He ran back to the medical wing. Later he would go back and see if the was anything salvageable from the wreckage or whether they would need to start again. Whether Erik would let them. Whether he would help the third time around.

 

Sucking in great gulps of air, tears streaming over his face, hair plastered to his head, Erik stared at the wrecked chamber with something akin to pride.

Every panel was hanging warped from the dome or lying twisted on the floor. Wires and cables tumbled from the control panel like some great mechanical creature with its innards ripped out. He had helped create the abomination, he could destroy it. He'd helped build the thing that was systematically tearing apart the man he loved more than life. No more! NO MORE.

Drawing a shuddering breath, he clenched and unclenched his hands. He felt resonance from the abused metal and it was the most beautiful song in his mind. He wanted to reach out and take it all apart, molecule by molecule by atom. Watching the whirlwind of bolts and tiny debris still tearing through the chamber he laughed. It was a breathless, dark laugh, tinged with exhaustion and pain. His body shook from the strain, but he had never felt this alive.

* * *

Hank inched into the room only after he was sure that Erik had left. His eyes widened at the destruction.

“Damn…” he whispered, confronted with the sheer magnitude of it all.

And the realization how frighteningly powerful this man was. They all knew, but for the first time he saw it like this. Not just lifting a sub. Not just manipulating a few hundred missiles. Not creating Cerebro’s room. This was a release of power that stunned him.

A shiver raced down his spine.

“Holy shit!” -- “Bloody hell!”

He jumped a little at the exclamations and shot the two young men a dark look, pulling back his lips over sharp teeth.

Alex and Sean were staring at what was left of Cerebro, eyes wide, and Sean looked just a little bit terrified.

“Erik did this?” Alex stammered. The usually so confident daredevil mutant had a cowed look to him.

“Yes,” Hank answered superfluously.

“But… because of the Professor?”

This time the scientist only narrowed his eyes.

Sean took careful steps into the destroyed chamber. “He’s really, really pissed off,” he murmured.

“You’d be too if something took your boyfriend from you.”

Hank almost laughed. Boyfriend. It didn’t describe what those two were. There was so much more to their relationship and he had seen it when Erik had been brought in, more dead than alive, and Charles had nearly broken down. While Erik hadn’t collapsed because of Charles, he had shown his reaction just as clearly.

He had torn Cerebro apart.

“Where’d he go?”

Hank shrugged. “I really didn’t think to ask, Sean.”

The other chewed his lower lip. “Just… should we be worried about him bringing down the house?”

“I doubt he’d really lose it that badly. Unless…” Alex stopped. “Uhm, the Professor is alive, right?”

Hank snarled, a deep rumble coming out of his chest, and the blond took an involuntary step back.

“Hey, just sayin’… I mean… right?”

“Charles is fine!” Hank roared, his temper taking over briefly. “Now get out of here!”

Alex blinked, then held up his hands. “Hey, calm down. It’s just… Erik’s scary, I know. But this is terrifying.”

“Just leave,” Hank muttered, pushing them out of the chamber.

He couldn’t lock Cerebro anymore. Erik had really made a mess of that, too. Hank spent the better part of the next hour sealing Cerebro’s chamber with a makeshift door and adding yellow tape, just to be sure. Normally none of the students wandered into this place, but now, with what had happened and since Alex and Sean would probably spread the news, he wasn’t so sure. He added motion sensors and an alarm, just to be safe.

Then he returned to his lab, feeling much more in control of his temper.

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

  
Reaper looked up from her notes when Hank stepped back into the room. She ran her eyes over his slightly frazzled looking form, noticed the hair standing on end, bristling actually, and frowned.

"Where's Erik?"

"I don't know. He's destroyed Cerebro."

With a gentle sigh, she crossed to Charles' bedside, sweeping her hand over his forehead, brushing back his wayward hair.

"I just hope the anchor line's intact."

Hank looked downright worried at her words. They had seen what Erik’s near-death had done to Charles. And Charles wasn’t prone to violence. He also wasn’t a madman’s creation and weapon. Erik walked a fine line between control and aggression sometimes. Charles evened out his temper. Erik in turn had given Charles a new edge.

"Will he be okay?" Hank asked.

"I think so. There doesn't seem to be any brain damage as far as I can tell. He should just wake up."

"So why doesn't it?"

"I suppose he will when he's ready," was her calm answer.

Hank sighed. “The sooner the better. Dealing with this Erik is dangerous.”

Reaper gave him a tight smile. “He won’t harm us, Hank. None of us. He is hurting and he needs to let it out.”

McCoy looked uncomfortable, but he had to accept it. He left the room again and Reaper turned to her patient, placing her right hand lightly on Charles’ chest. She couldn’t scan life signs, but she read life energies. Since she could take and give that kind of energy she was very familiar with the readings. Charles’ were strong and steady. Only his mind had shut down for the moment.

Leaving the telepath under the watchful sensors of the machines, hooked up to so many cables the slightest twitch would alarm her, Reaper went in search of Erik.

She didn’t find him, only a few confused looking children. One of them was the young girl they had found in Kenya. Ororo Munroe was a weather witch, as her people had called her, a young mutant able to control the weather. She was still learning about her abilities and the few times she had tried something on a grand scale, it had resulted in a lot of mayhem. Charles was certain she had the potential, all she needed was control.

“What happened to the Professor?” Ororo asked.

With her dark skin and white hair she was the mirror image of Reaper with her white skin and dark hair. Their powers differed greatly, though.

“He received psychic backlash through Cerebro,” Reaper answered truthfully. “He’s currently unconscious.”

Ororo looked really worried now. Reaper didn’t like dealing with emotional outbreaks or social situations like these. She felt awkward and out of her depth. But the children needed to know that Charles was going to be okay.

“Erik left,” the girl suddenly added before Reaper could say something.

“Left when?”

“A few minutes ago. With Azazel. Riptide is still here,” she explained, looking hesitant.

Reaper forced herself to remain calm. She knew what this meant.

“Thank you, Ororo. And don’t worry about Professor Xavier. He’ll be fine.”

Hoping it wasn’t a lie, she walked off, looking for Riptide. Normally, where Riptide was, Azazel wasn’t far. She had no idea what their relationship was and she didn’t care. What she cared about were Charles and Erik.

 

She found the other mutant in one of the empty teaching rooms. It was usually used for normal classes, not for training one’s powers. Riptide was wearing his usual suit, a light gray affair that looked smooth and expensive. A white shirt and black shoes completed the outfit. Reaper always wondered if he even owned anything normal, but maybe this was normal for him.

They had barely spoken ten words with each other in the past. Riptide was the silent type, but very attentive and he seemed to open up whenever he was in class with the children. They liked him and Ororo was learning about wind control from him.

“Riptide?” she asked, voice controlled.

He looked up. Dark eyes regarded her coolly.

“Erik left with Azazel. Where to?”

“I do not know,” he replied.

Reaper’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not his keeper.”

She smiled humorlessly. “But you are friends and you usually know where he might be. This is important, Riptide.”

He placed the book onto the desk, regarding her solemnly. “I’m not telepathic. Neither is Azazel. I wouldn’t know, Reaper.”

She swallowed a curse.

“What exactly happened to get Erik so worked up?” he asked, voice still level, mildly curious.

“Charles used Cerebro and something attacked him. He’s currently unconscious.”

“Used Cerebro to do what?”

Reaper frowned. Good question. Riptide cocked an eyebrow. She grimaced, then gave him a nod. She had to find out that particular answer first. To her surprise Riptide fell in step beside her.

“I’m curious,” he only said with a half smile.

*

The log was hard to decipher. Hank was pouring over the numbers and looking at charts or computer data. Finally he straightened, looking more than worried. His yellow eyes were reflecting downright fear.

“Charles went back looking for the mutant in Shadowside.”

Reaper cursed. Riptide looked thoughtful.

“Charles is bad enough, but now we have Erik to worry about,” she said angrily, eyes coloring yellow. “And Azazel is helping him!”

Riptide shrugged. “Don’t look at me. Like I said, I’m not his keeper. If he asked me to come along to take care of a problem, I would. This thing nearly killed Erik and now attacked Charles.”

“We don’t know what exactly happened,” Reaper hissed. “We only know that something knocked him out!”

“And Erik reacted,” was the reasonable answer. “You know him, too. Did you expect him to draw up peace talks?”

Reaper growled, visibly fighting two sides warring inside her. She would have gone after anything threatening her partner as well, if she had one who was so close to her as Charles was to Erik. She couldn’t fault her friend for doing what he thought was right. Well, thinking didn’t come into this, she knew. Erik was reacting, not thinking.

“And even if Azazel would have said no, Erik would have found a way.”

“Azazel wouldn’t have denied him this,” Reaper stated, not even making it a question.

Riptide raised an eyebrow again. “What do you think?”

Reaper met his dark eyes, saw the truth in there, and nodded. Charles had won the loyalty of two former enemies and with him, Erik, too. Azazel was a warrior and he understood Erik’s motivation better than anyone.

With a sigh, she looked over at Hank, who didn’t look that happy either. Before either could say anything, a beeping could be heard.

“Charles!” she exclaimed and hurried out of the room.

* * *

Charles flexed his fingers and looked around with a soft groan. He recognized his surroundings immediately; he had spent so long in here when Erik was hurt. Infirmary. Medical wing.

Huh.

He could feel tubes where tubes weren't supposed to be and for a confused moment remembered nothing about what had happened. He was a second from panic before his brain recalled the attack, the other mutant going for the anchor point, and instinctively he reached for Erik. He had thrown everything at the opponent; he had protected what was most important in his life. Charles had never known how far he could go, how far he could reach into himself to draw power, and survive with his faculties intact.

Now he knew. He had gone past perceived limits, acting out what he taught. He just hadn’t been prepared to pass his own limits like this, with such intensity.

His brain activity intensified, medical alarm bells started to ring, and Reaper came running. Her eyes were whirling with yellow and green, a sure sign of her agitation.

"Charles..."

"Where's Erik?" he demanded.

“Calm down…”

“Where is Erik?!”

He tried to sit up, but she put a determined hand on her shoulder and pressed him back to the bed.

"Reaper, tell me where he is!"

His voice was stronger than he would have thought. He felt stronger than he would have thought, too. He couldn’t have been here for too long.

“Charles, please. You were hurt…”

He brushed off her concern. “I’m fine. Erik isn’t!”

Although the anchor was blocked from Erik's side, Charles could feel anger and rage, and echoes of something he hadn't felt from his lover in a long time; the need for revenge.

::Erik! Erik please!::

He knew he wouldn't be heard, he would need to push and he wasn't sure if he did that his head wouldn't explode. He felt okay physically, but the abuse he had taken was by now overpowering his thinking. Charles had learned to ignore headaches early on. They were a given for a telepath. With a growing understanding of his abilities he had developed shields and a lot of tolerance. That tolerance had been severely surpassed.

He extended his hand, wriggling his fingers. "Advil, please?"

Reaper dropped two into his hand and helped him with water. Charles closed his eyes for a few minutes until she'd removed the undignified tubes and the pills had taken the edge off the headache. Then he slowly sat up and swung his legs off the bed, staring down at his bare knees.

Huh. Not just his knees. He was naked underneath the flimsy excuse for a hospital shirt. Even here, not in an official hospital, he had been stripped down.

"Clothes, please?" he asked.

Reaper met his eyes, a stubborn line forming between her eyes. He recognized that line and he knew he mirrored that expression.

“Reaper, please. Clothes. I need to find Erik.”

She huffed, anger chasing away her concern, but she handed him a stack of folded clothes. Sweatshirt, sweat pants. Not his usual style, outside of running tracks. But Charles took what he could.

Reaper gave him some privacy to dress, then she checked him over; eyes, ears, temperature.

“You’re not leaving sooner,” she told him sternly.

He understood her concern. He had been deeply unconscious, comatose. The attack could have left him with something serious. But his worry for Erik was growing in leaps.

Reaper touched his face, tilting his head to look into his eyes. “Charles,” she chided him.

“What happened?” he demanded, ignoring her worry.

“You tell me. You used Cerebro and then…?”

Charles bit back on his reply that he didn’t care about himself, that he wanted to know about Erik Lensherr. But Reaper wouldn’t let him go otherwise.

“I tried to find the mutant in Shadowside, talk to her.”

“And she struck at you?”

“Yes. I think she didn’t mean to attack like that, to make it an act of aggression.”

Reaper looked at him long and hard. Charles grimaced.

“I know. It looks bad. But I felt it and it wasn’t an attack. It was… overwhelming curiosity. Like a child who can’t control its powers.”

“Is it a child?”

“Yes and no. It’s complicated, Reaper, and nothing I want to discuss at the moment. Now, about Erik…”

“He… got angry. He found you in Cerebro, brought you here, and kinda lost it.”

"I can imagine." His headache wasn't subsiding. "Where is he?"

"We don't know for sure,” she evaded a direct answer. “But he took it out on Cerebro. From what Hank says, there's a lot of damage."

Lots of thoughts crowded in at once, but foremost in his aching mind was how he had brought this on himself.

“You suspect where he is?” he asked, feeling a first wave of tiredness.

He fought it. He needed to get out of here, look for his partner.

Reaper sighed, visibly aware of his stubborn refusal to give in to his body and lay back down.

“Azazel has disappeared. Ororo saw them together. Riptide has no idea where Azazel went, but we went over the Cerebro data and discovered what you were doing. At least we knew who you were looking for. So it’s a good bet that Erik went to Shadowside.”

Charles closed his head, massaging his forehead with one hand. Damn.


	4. Chapter 4

Charles stood in what was left of the Cerebro chamber, calmly taking in the destruction. Hank was lingering behind him, silent, letting their professor take his time.

No one had tried to clean up.

Everything was just the way Erik had left it.

It was as if the pain still lingered here, expressed in torn metal and twisted wiring.

Charles could feel it like a physical sensation. He knew who Erik was, how he worked, how much he hated the brainwave amplifier. He had called Charles a labrat before and he always had this misgiving expression in his eyes, but Charles knew how important Cerebro was to their work. And he didn’t spend all his free time ‘getting his brain fried’, as Erik always called it.

Cerebro was a necessity, a tool, and he was the only one able to use it. Even if they had a telepath among the students, Charles wouldn’t want him or her to use this. You needed skill and concentration and you had to be very sure of yourself not to get overrun by the wave of information suddenly in your mind.

All that he had told Erik; each and every time the dark cloud over his lover’s head had spoken lengths.

Erik was scared. Not of Cerebro but for Charles.

A small smile tugged at the telepath’s lips. It filled him with a warm feeling to know he had such a person at his side. Still, Erik didn’t trust him in that regard, to know what he could do and couldn’t.

 _Well, then again_ , he thought, _I’ve proven that I couldn’t this time._

Pushing his hands into his pockets he turned and walked out of the room. Hank followed, locking the interim door firmly.

“What do you want me to do?” the scientist asked.

Charles gave him a calm smile. “Nothing.”

“But…”

“Hank, leave it be. Erik will be back. He has Azazel along and Riptide assured me that Azazel will make sure Erik returns unharmed.”

McCoy looked dubious, but he nodded.

“We’ll take care of rebuilding Cerebro,” Charles added, walking to the elevator. “Let’s just leave a specific date open.”

“Works for me.”

Xavier rubbed his aching head and punched the button for the mansion. Hank stayed behind, a worried look in his eyes.

 

Upstairs Charles managed to avoid running into people and went into what had once been just a simple bedroom and now was more or less a small apartment. Without a kitchen. He and Erik shared the place. There was a large bedroom, a study, a small office that was only used by him, and a large bathroom. In the beginning it had been just his bedroom. Then the wall had been knocked out to make it larger, to include the next room. Then a storage room had been added, its wall also knocked out. It gave both men a lot of room and it still felt like a home within his manor.

The manor had never been more of a home than now. Before the others had moved it, it had been a place, an object, something he had inherited from his parents. It had never felt like his own. Now it did. Now it was theirs. Charles didn’t feel like the master of this place; more like just one of many using it. The children had their rooms, some sharing, some preferring to be alone because of their mutations. Erik had teased him endlessly about his detachment when it came to possessions, but Charles had never assessed himself or others by worldly goods. He had made his way and become who he was because of his own hard work, not because of money. Erik begged to differ, but the gentle ribbing was part of their relationship.

Now he locked the door behind him and walked over to the high window overlooking the garden below. He finally took a place in an overstuffed chair and pressed two fingers of his left hand against his temple, casting out his mind along the anchor.

Toward Erik.

* * *

Shadowside Creek was just as he remembered it. Nothing had changed, except for the weather. Winter had moved in full force by November and with it the snow and sleet and winter wonderland feeling. The ski resort had opened and people were flocking in from all over the country. Erik had no eyes for the people enjoying themselves.

Azazel had been reluctant to fulfill his wish, but the teleporter knew that Erik would find a way to get here, even if he had to highjack a plane or steal a car.

“It’s your head, comrade,” the red-skinned mutant had only remarked.

“Don’t worry,” had been Erik’s confident reply.

Now he stood in the snow, looking at the cabin that had nearly been his grave. It looked even worse than months ago. Snow lay heavily on the decrepit roof. The door was hanging by one hinge and one of the window covers appeared busted. The tree that had been barely held up b a neighboring tree had come down and taken the siding with it, leaving the cabin with a gaping hole on the left side.

Nothing moved.

Erik wasn’t fooled. Charles had called the mutant one to be able to materialize illusions. Who could say that this was real?

What he couldn’t be fooled about was the presence of metal. He felt every rusted nail, bolt and screw, every bed spring, every metal chair leg, every knife or scissor.

They called out to him. He answered their call.

He cast out what he had, tearing the nails and bolts and screws from wood, every piece of wire from the walls, and the debris that contained metal became a hailstorm of destruction. Gray eyes, cold and emotionless, watched the destruction of the cabin. No feelings at all but icy hatred, the need for revenge, the taste of metal on his very tongue.

The cabin was reduced to kindling.

Finally he stopped. Breathing hard, sweat rolling down his spine, chilling him, he let the power abate.

It had started to snow. The white flakes settled on the now seriously ruined building. Erik drew a shaky breath, drained and elated in one. If there had been more metal inside the wood, nothing would have been left. Nothing at all.

*

Large eyes watched the destruction of the cabin. No muscle moved in the smooth faces.

*He hurts* one said.

*Badly* the other agreed.

*We know him*

*He came before*

*I can feel the other with him*

Apprehension and caution made way to curiosity.

Two figures stood between the trees, unseen by the shaking metalbender. They didn’t attack, they simply observed. One cast out their powers, feeling the emotional fury, the rage and pain and suffering of the man who had destroyed the cabin. The other cocked her head, surprised and fascinated.

*They are like us*

*We are one. They are two*

*But they share*

*Did we hurt that?*

They looked at each other, a light frown on their faces. They cast out together, touching the shaken mind of the known stranger. The man who had a gift and had used it to destroy. They touched his pain and they found the connection. They recognized it as something they had touched before.

Finally the man left.

More snow fell.

They didn’t mind as they followed his path down to the town.

They didn’t see the red-skinned teleporter up in the tree, but he saw them.

*

Azazel waited for Erik at the treeline, away from the curious eyes of skiers and whoever else might be this close to the resort grounds. Unlike every other human he didn’t need to dress for the cold. He was a little bit bothered by the nippy temperatures, but it wasn’t bad. His normal clothes would do.

When Lensherr came into view, the teleporter quickly assessed his mood and found that while the other mutant had worked off his rage, he was still not completely calm. Azazel was quite aware how dangerous this man was and he respected that. He and Riptide had talked long and hard about whether to stay with Xavier and his school, or go their own ways. Riptide had been for a trial run and Azazel had agreed, both offering their services to the telepath. By now they had their own rooms at the manor, they were a part of the teaching schedule, and Azazel found that his respect for Xavier had grown in leaps. The man was a lot more than met the eye. Behind that deceptively soft façade hid a strong, powerful mind with a sharp intellect.

Erik was the complete opposite. There was no mistaking his danger at first look. And there was no mistaking his loyalty to Xavier. It had piqued Azazel’s interest right from the start, and while he called both men the ‘parents’ of the teenagers, it was in a respectful way. He didn’t want to have the responsibility Xavier seemed to shoulder so easily. For all their differences, Lensherr was a support Xavier needed. Those two needed each other, it was almost symbiotic.

Azazel grinned a little. He hid the smile when Erik sloshed toward him in the snow, looking tired but satisfied.

He felt a slight touch to his mind and suddenly Xavier was there.

::Is he okay?::

::Don’t you know?:: the teleporter asked.

It got him a weak chuckle. Telepathy was a strange thing. In his time working with Shaw, Emma Frost had never talked to them this way. He suspected the woman wasn’t that strong a telepath, at least compared to Charles Xavier.

::He’s okay:. Azazel finally said.

Dark brows went down over narrowed gray eyes. “What?” Lensherr asked sharply.

“Mom is checking in on you.”

Erik smiled darkly. It was an almost frightening expression on the narrow, slightly too pale features. He briefly had a faraway look in his eyes and suddenly the tension flowed out of his body.

When they had left Xavier had been still deeply asleep. Now he was conscious and it showed in the way Erik was behaving.

“Home?” Azazel simply asked.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

* * *

Charles opened his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. His head started to ache more, telling him that so shortly after getting knocked out by a psychic overload, using his gift was a curse. He longed for a glass of scotch, but he also knew that alcohol made matters worse. And painkillers weren’t high up on his list of favorite medication.

But fact of the matter was, he needed relief before the headache turned into a migraine.

With great reluctance he went over into the bathroom to the medicine cabinet. He swallowed a pill and rested his head against the cool tiles for a moment, then finally tore himself away. Azazel would be back by now and with him Erik. He wanted to see his lover, wanted to talk to him, which meant leaving again.

Charles sighed and rubbed over his temples, then determinedly left the room. He carefully reached out to find Azazel and got a brief reply that he had delivered Erik safe and sound.

::And something else:: the teleporter said, voice changing a little. He sounded more… intense. ::I saw them::

::Them?::

::Two of them. They were watching Lensherr. They didn’t attack, so I left them alone::

::Girls?::

::Can’t say whether they were male or female, but they weren’t children::

Charles thanked him. His mind turned over the information, running it against what he had seen and felt before he had been knocked out.

Then followed instinct and the echo of the anchor.


	5. Chapter 5

  
Leaving the mansion again was pointless. Wherever he went, Charles would find him and follow him. Besides, leaving Charles would cause more pain than he was willing to inflict on either of them. Too much had happened in the past months and he had come to realize just how close they were, how tight. Their connection wasn’t defined by the anchor line. Even without it, Charles Xavier was so different from anyone he had ever met. The acceptance, the calmness, the love…

Erik screwed his eyes shut and fought for composure.

Charles had become everything to him. His strength and his weakness. Mostly his strength.

So he blocked the connection the way he did out in the field and went for a long walk in the grounds, staying out until the sun set, until Charles predictably found him on the edge of the estate, sitting on some overgrown stone steps that led nowhere and ended at a wooden fence beyond which was woodland. The light was dim, the air cool, predicting snow.

"You knew I would find you."

It was a relief to hear Charles' voice, stating the obvious. "I wasn't hiding." He didn't turn around, knowing Charles wouldn't leave, still he said, "shouldn't you be resting?"

"Hank showed me Cerebro. Or rather, what's left of it."

There was no accusation in his tone, just questions, and on no account was Erik going to apologize, even though he knew an apology was certainly due. Charles wasn't bothered by material things - ironically, given his inheritance - but Cerebro represented months of hard work and their connection to all the other mutants out there.

Without the option of apology, Erik had no choice but to go defensive. Jumping to his feet, he turned and allowed himself a moment to relish the sight of his lover before opening his mouth and letting the anger flow freely again.

"Do you have any idea who I'd be without you?"

Charles, dressed in black slacks and a warm blue sweater, leaning heavily against the stone wall at the top of the wide steps looking exhausted already, stared at him.

"Do you have any idea what I'd be?!"

It was an unfair strategy, and one he wasn't able to defend, to blame Charles for his willful destruction of the cursed machine, but that wasn't going to stop him from laying at least some culpability at Charles' feet.

"You'd be the man you are," Charles replied gently. "I would like to think my influence on your life has been more than a glitch."

A glitch! Erik almost laughed out loud. Four years ago his life had changed dramatically. Four years ago he had met this one man who had turned everything around, had given him a reason to live after the death of Shaw. Even before that. Charles had touched him right down in his soul, had reanimated him, had made him human.

Charles. Only him. No one else would ever mean this much, would ever matter this much, would warrant his loyalty like this.

But it was an argument he knew he couldn't win. "You know it is. You've changed me."

"Then without me you'd be the man I'd be without you.” Charles smiled. “You went back to Shadowside Creek."

And with one sentence, topics were switched. There was a hint of anger in his voice then, as Erik had predicted; Cerebro was a machine, it could be rebuilt. Erik couldn't be.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I wasn't thinking straight."

It sounded hollow, weak. He had been thinking very straight, linear, single-minded. He had gone back to get his revenge, to remove the threat to his partner’s mind, to face his own terror, the monster, and deal with it.

Charles moved to sit on the top step, kicking away pieces of broken stone. "If I lost you, Erik, I'd be a broken man, but I wouldn't turn against the world and neither would you."

Losing Charles… no, it wasn’t an option. It would never be an option. Especially when the loss was something that could be prevented. Charles had been stupid, he had been careless… It was what angered Erik more than anything. Cerebro needed better failsafe programs; there needed to be better monitoring.

"She wasn't there," Erik tried to placate him a little sheepishly, "At least she didn't attack me."

Charles laughed sardonically. "I think I'd know if she had, don't you?”

He blew out a breath, a hiss. Of course Charles would know. The last time, the first time actually, he had been caught by the backlash. He had known in an instant.

“Besides, it's not a little girl,” his partner went on. “We're dealing with twins. I'm not sure if they're male or female, but I remember the battle inside Cerebro."

Erik stared at him. "But when I was in the cabin..."

"The little girl is just another defense mechanism. I don't know why they need so many defenses and I understand the need to know..."

"No!" In the next moment, Erik was at Charles' feet, shaking his head. "No, Charles, that's not why I went! I don't need to understand, I don't need to know! This, these mutants have almost killed us both! I thought it was a child and still I went back to kill her!"

Charles' face fell and Erik instantly felt his sadness. "No..."

"I'm sorry." He put his hands on Charles' knee. "She hurt you, attacked you.”

Emotions flared, raging through him.

::You are everything to me:: he said, using the anchor line. He couldn’t get his voice to work. ::I don't think you understand what that means. If anyone took you from me, I swear Charles, I would kill them. That's who I am!::

He expected bitter disappointment from his lover, but what he felt was an unconditional love and overwhelming trust. It enveloped him like a warm blanket, suffused his very soul, and he felt tears rise.

"I know who you are." Charles took Erik's hands in his own. "Give me some credit."

"But the girl..."

"You were angry. I don't believe that faced with a child, a real child, you would have killed her. We're not dealing with a little girl. We're dealing with very powerful mutants who could be very dangerous. That's why we need to find them. This isn't just about my curiosity any more."

Sighing, Erik dropped his forehead to the backs of Charles' hands and sighed.

"I need you. We're stronger together. And you're the love of my life."

Erik lifted his head. He'd known he couldn't win. "Why aren't you mad about Cerebro?"

"I am. But... I shouldn't have gone in alone. And I'm sorry for that. Your reaction, while possibly a little over the top, may well have been justified at the time."

Charles ran soothing fingers through the dark hair. Erik pulled him close, wrapping strong arms around him.

“Why do you hate Cerebro?” Charles murmured.

“Hatred is too strong a word for it. I don’t understand how you can take all of this, the whole machine, so lightly. Charles, it’s connected to your brain when you use it! Your brain! It can damage your mind!”

Erik’s emotions flared and his eyes blazed. Charles sighed softly. He had never ignored the danger to himself, but he had seen it as a necessary risk. Like with surgery you had to accept something might go wrong.

::Brain surgery!:: Erik growled, very much aware of his thoughts. ::It’s you damned brain, Charles! If this overloads you might end up a vegetable! I can’t accept that!::

Charles held him, let their minds mesh a little as he wrapped himself around the other man.

::I’ll have Hank install failsafe switches, I promise::

“You better,” was the low warning. “I’m not going to lift one bolt, one single plate, to the ceiling before Hank hasn’t finished a security program.”

Charles smiled. “Okay.”

“Love of your life, hm?” Erik teased, feeling tired and worn.

Charles gave him a brilliant smile. “Yes.”

“The first one who didn’t run scared at your terrible pick-up lines?”

He chuckled. “I never tried any of them on you.”

“You just went full force, right into my head.”

“To stop you from drowning.”

“It’s appreciated.” Erik pulled him close, burying his head against warm sweater. “Don’t ever think I’m not thankful.” He drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly again. “But ever since the rift accident, knowing what could have been… seeing the loss they suffered…” He fought with his emotions. “I can’t fathom losing you, Charles. Not like this. Because you’re so foolish to think you can do all of this without backup.”

“I only wanted to talk to her. Them.”

“Because that went so well the last time,” Erik said wryly.

“They are scared. They need to know we’re no danger. And as allies… I’d like to help, Erik. They left the cabin, as you said. Or maybe they projected emptiness. They’re strong, but rather blunt in their approach. I believe both sides could only gain from an alliance.”

Gray eyes bore into blue ones. Charles cupped his face, brushing his thumb over the stubbled cheek.

“Cerebro is down for the count. I won’t be trying anything.”

Erik smiled darkly. Satisfaction flooded through him.

::You’re impossible:: Charles chided.

He wrapped his arms around his smaller lover, pulled Charles close, enjoying the sensation of the firm body against him. Their balance was a little unsteady and Erik had to lean against the stone pillar that had probably been planned as a banister when the useless steps had been built here. Charles chuckled as he fell against him.

“Why were you never afraid of me?” Erik asked.

Charles pushed back a little, mild amusement in his eyes. “Should I have been?”

“You saw everything,” he reminded him.

“Then you have your answer.”

Erik shook his head in exasperation. “Parallel lives,” he only said. “My other self, in that reality, left the parallel Charles. He has it in him to harm… to leave you.”

“So much played into that moment, Erik. So much. We managed to make it right. Over there, something was a little off and things went differently. I believe that wherever you are, in whatever world, and whatever happened to you or us, the basic connection will always be there. You met my other self. You suspected something had happened between them, or could have been about to happen. They never took that chance. We did.”

He kissed him, his mind open, embracing Charles in every way.

::Yes, we did. I love you. Never do that again, Charles. Never!::

::Never.::

::And I’ll repair Cerebro. I promise.::

Charles only chuckled.

* * *

Erik lay awake in bed, staring at the dark ceiling above. Charles lay at his side, asleep. He had finally succumbed to his exhaustion, and to the strength of two more painkillers, after Erik had told him to get some rest. His hair was a mess, tousled and the wavy strands falling all over his forehead. It was still floppy, though.

Winter had finally found Westchester. It had started to snow an hour ago, fat flakes that were just the beginning. Forecasts told of massive snow storms to come. The wind had picked up and it rattled at some of the windows already.

Erik turned to look at the man at his side, smiling softly. He studied the relaxed features. Charles still showed signs of the lingering headache, despite the medication. There were fine lines around his eyes and across his forehead. Erik brushed gentle fingers over the soft skin.

Charles murmured softly and leaned into his caress. He curled even closer and started to snuggle. Erik grinned.

 _Love you_ , he thought. _So much. I can’t put it into words. You mean everything. Everything, Charles._

Charles gave a soft sigh, but he wasn’t waking. The anchor told him that his lover was deep asleep, probably only reacting to the echoes from their connection.

Erik sometimes wondered what his life would have been like if they had met under different circumstances. Before Cuba. Maybe just after the war was over. He had been a frightened child, his parents dead, his ‘creator’ dragging him along to finish his work. He had ruthlessly formed the young boy into what he had wanted. A weapon. A deadly weapon. Without a conscience.

What if that weapon, fresh away from the man who would have had no qualms using him until something or someone killed Erik, had met a young Charles Xavier?

Erik had no idea if they would have become friends, or more. Fifteen years ago there had been only barely contained rage, cold-blooded killer instinct, the need to erase those who had killed his people. Charles had been an idealistic student with a wonderful gift.

He grinned.

Maybe this younger Charles would have wormed himself into the younger Erik’s heart as well. Maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe he would have left to fulfill his revenge, then return. Maybe be would have realized his full potential sooner because it had been Charles who had opened that particular door.

 _I owe you more than I can ever repay._

Erik played with a strand of hair, smiling more. A hand trailed over his ribs and wrapped around his waist. Charles buried against his chest, murmuring.

A particularly strong gust of wind howled around the manor.

Erik wrapped arm around the narrow shoulders, closing his eyes, trying to find sleep himself. He felt Charles’ presence with him, physical as well as in his mind. He fell into a light doze.


	6. Chapter 6

  
Charles woke with a start. A fiery blaze lit up inside his mind and he cried out before he could stop himself. It was a mind-touch, but not one he had ever felt before. Not like this, so sudden and strong and… awkward… like the one touching his mind had never done anything like this before.

::Who are you?:: he sent.

Images flooded him. Wild and uncontrolled. Charles tried to make sense of the flood, but it was straining. It actually hurt. He groaned as the images overwhelmed him and he held on to the anchor line as he fought back. He was strong, he could do this, he just needed to… push!

So he pushed.

And he threw up shields. Massive, strong shields that would probably leave him with a migraine when this was over, but he didn’t care.

Charles was only dimly aware of someone holding him as he fought, talking to him, and he strengthened his hold on the anchor, then confronted the one so awkwardly trying to make contact.

::Who are you?:: he insisted.

*We are*

::What is your name?::

*We don’t*

He tried to peer closer, tried to see who was talking. It sounded like two voices and he suspected that he was talking to the twins. They had contacted him – voluntarily!

::My name is Charles. Where are you? What do you want?::

Images again, too many to make sense of them.

::Slow down!:: he yelled, trying to be heard.

*We share*

*Like you*

Charles heard two voices again, but echoing within each other. He saw something, a slower image. Two individuals, connected.

::Connected like me?::

And then it hit him. The anchor! They had seen the anchor! To Erik. Between them.

*Like us* they said.

::We are connected:: Charles agreed. ::But not like you. You are twins. Erik and I are partners::

They didn’t understand, insisting they were the same. Charles grabbed a few more images, seeing the destroyed cabin. Seeing Erik as he let his rage run free. Seeing loneliness and fear and the inability to understand it all.

::Where are you?::

There was no reply.

::We never meant to hurt you. Please. Let me help. There are people like you here, all with different abilities. We can learn from each other::

They were pulling back and Charles felt how careful they suddenly were. Azazel had said he had seen two adults. He wasn’t facing a girl or children, to be more general.

::Please!::

He caught an image of caution, of trying to understand him and Erik and the others. Charles suddenly understood that the twins had been always in each other’s presence, never among people. They had lived with only themselves as company, had no social skills. It was the first time they had tried to talk to anyone other than themselves.

::Can we talk face to face?:: Charles tried again.

Confusion, then they were suddenly gone.

Charles was thrown out of the contact like going through a cold withdrawal. He gasped, flung out of his mind.

“Charles!”

Erik was everywhere, touching him, pushing along the anchor. For a moment it was too much. First the alien contact that was beyond anything he had ever touched. Now Erik’s overpowering presence.

Charles was just fast enough to make it to the toilet, then he threw up. His stomach heaved painfully and he retched. There was hardly anything left to throw up, but he couldn’t stop. Cramps shook him and he spat out gall and stomach acid, his whole body heaving again.

With a groan he fell against the tiles, shaking badly. His head pounded in the rhythm of his thundering heart. Inside his mind the echoes of the contact replayed over and over, sickening and so very wrong.

They weren’t used to it. They knew each other, but others weren’t like them and couldn’t stomach their preferred way of communication. Not as strongly as they used it.

Someone was with him, a hand on his back, calming, steady and grounding. He leaned into that touch, fell into the strong arms, and opened the anchor.

::Charles?::

Soft. No anger. Controlled. Soothing. Erik was there, keeping himself under control to give Charles the chance to recover.

::It was them, Erik. They tried to talk to me::

There was a flicker. He felt it briefly and recognized it as quickly controlled fury. Charles opened his eyes, feeling still nauseous, but he needed to look into Erik’s eyes.

“They mean no harm, Erik. They’re… not like us. They always only had themselves. They have no idea about social interaction. And something hurts them.” He looked inward, trying to see the images again, remember them. “It’s like too many people… overwhelm them. It’s why they hide.”

Erik looked at him, one hand carding into his messy hair. Charles wasn’t even sure Erik was aware of what he was doing. He smiled, leaning a little into the touch.

“Socially awkward,” the other man finally said.

“More than that. Asocial, even. But there is a reason and they tried to tell me. They just don’t know how to connect without causing some kind of extreme reaction.”

Erik brushed his thumb over Charles’ left temple, a soothing motion. He leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“Painkiller?”

“No. It’s getting better. I’m just not used to this kind of sudden connect and disconnect. They have no skill, no finesse. Nothing at all.”

“I don’t like how they can do this to you.”

Charles smiled slightly. “They are learning, as am I. I’ve never met another telepath in all my life until Emma Frost. And that was painful, too. She surprised me. They are so very different, so unlike any other teenager. I’ll learn. They will, too.”

“So they’ll be back?”

Tension flowed through the lean frame and Charles took the hand cupping his face, placing a gentle kiss on the palm.

“They are curious, Erik. They saw our connection. They think we are like them.”

The tension grew more. Erik was protective and had shown he was ready to kill to protect Charles, as well as preserve the anchor.

“They understand, Erik, don’t you see? They don’t want to hurt the connection. They see it as something that makes us kin to them.”

The professor was back, full force. Erik’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“How can you be so lenient with someone who nearly killed you?!”

“They didn’t want to kill me. Or you. It’s their defense.”

“Killing people,” was the dry reply. “That monster wasn’t some cuddly puppy, Charles!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Charles replied calmly, face serious. “They don’t know better, Erik. They don’t understand. They have been alone for so long, they have no idea how to interact. They react instinctively.”

Erik snarled. “I don’t want them hurting you!”

His emotions spiked and Charles winced a little. He was still too open and raw from the attack, relying on his anchor point, and every shift from Erik had him feel it tenfold.

The other man calmed himself by force again, sighing. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry.”

“You have every right to be angry,” Charles told him, wrapping an arm around the lithe man, leaning into the solid contact. “But I understand more than before. I can’t be angry with someone who is as innocent as a child.”

Erik fought down another wave of anger and Charles rode it out. He closed his eyes and let his head fall against Erik’s shoulder. It felt nice and warm and calming.

“They project the girl because that’s what they are: children. And I want to find out more about them. I’m still convinced we can help.”

Erik held him, resting his chin against the tousled hair, then he sighed. “You can’t save the world, Charles.”

“No, but maybe a few mutants at a time.”

“Incorrigible.”

“I know what I felt. Erik, I want to try this.”

He was silent for a long time and Charles let him be, waited. He felt Erik’s mind, but he wasn’t reading his thoughts. Charles needed to recover and that meant relaxing, letting the anchor stabilize his psyche. Erik would come to his own conclusions.

And it wasn’t as if he could really stop him. Not if Charles was determined, which he was.

“You should get some rest,” his lover finally rumbled.

Charles smiled a little and let himself get pulled up and herded over to the bed. He curled up against Erik, using him as his pillow. He let the gentle caress through his hair lull him back into sleep, though the twins were still on his mind. He felt Erik’s displeasure at the faint thoughts, but that was about all.

He would pursue his goal to talk to them once more. There was nothing that could stop him.

* * *

The next contact wasn’t any less painful or sudden. It left him sick and with a pounding headache. At least he didn’t have to throw up.

“Was it worth it?” Erik asked coldly, gray eyes glacial. His face was made of stone, but Charles felt the worry through the anchor line.

“Yes, actually it was,” he answered, his very teeth aching. He swallowed two pills to take the edge off.

Erik glared at him, but he didn’t shield the connection. Actually he was wide open and buffering the stressed-out telepath. Charles massaged his scalp, but his hands were taken and he was pulled against the taller man.

“Would you please stop being a martyr and take what you need?” Erik grumbled.

He smiled and let himself sink into the offered contact.

“You’re angry,” he murmured.

“Not angry enough to deny you what you need, idiot.” ::And you need me::

::I need you:: Charles agreed.

He let himself soak in the strong presence, took what he had to, and finally, with the pain medication, things were evening out.

::They have no names:: he murmured, eyes closed, firmly in Erik’s embrace, lying on the couch. ::They don’t remember parents. At least not clearly. They have no idea what parents are, but I got the idea that they had a family once::

Erik listened, his attention on the connection and on Charles. ::Foster parents?:: he asked, interpreting the images Charles showed him of the latest contact.

::Could be. But they lost them suddenly::

::In Shadowside Creek?::

::I don’t know::

They lay together, Charles letting himself drift.

::Where are they now?:: Erik asked after a while.

::I don’t know::

::But they will contact you again?::

::I don’t know::

Erik massaged his lover’s neck, strong fingers finding all the right points. Charles felt his muscles relaxed and he gave a soft moan of pleasure. Erik chuckled.

“Why?” he broke the silence between them.

Charles cracked an eye open. “Why what?”

“Forgot. Braindead telepath,” Erik teased. “Why are they even talking to you again?” he clarified.

“I’m not sure.”

“Once was enough!”

“They might try again.”

Erik didn’t look happy. To tell the truth, he looked ready to kill again.

  


 

A week later he was about to head out and look for the twins. Twice more they had talked to Charles and twice more he had ended up with severe headaches and backlash. Each time Erik was there for him.

Charles didn’t get a lot of information throughout the moments of clear contact. He had yet to find out whether the twins were boys, girls or one of each. They seemed to be still in Shadowside Creek since they didn’t understand moving or leaving. They had apparently found another place to stay. The question as to how they fed themselves was answered vaguely. Apparently they influenced people in town to leave food for them, especially at the restaurants.

So Charles dug into information about the town again, about people who had vanished, about missing children and maybe families who had moved away. He requested a ton of records and he got them, though it was slow going. Hayes was invaluable getting what they wanted, using her charm as well as her slightly more criminal tendencies to gather information. It helped that Charles had paid for her a room and added an allowance for food for a week in Shadowside Creek, at the Lodge Hotel and Ski Resort. All other expenses were her own.

Not that she needed a lot of money. She had her charms and she had talent. While Hayes stayed under the police radar, she had criminal tendencies that even Charles Xavier couldn’t suppress. She tried not to make it too obvious, but she wasn’t walking a straight line either. Charles let it slip as long as she didn’t outright commit a felony.

Erik had once remarked that she was a walking felony and all her actions were illegal in some state.

But she got results. By the ton. Charles was amazed at how much she delivered, though some of it looked like she had simply packed up the library and shipped it to him.

Erik walked into the study, almost falling over a stack of paper.

“Geez, Charles,” he groaned, sidestepping another pile. “Overkill much?”

Charles looked up from his reading material, smiling. “It helps understand the town and its people.”

“What are you? An archeologist? Anthropology your new hobby?”

Erik picked his way through the paper and books and leaned over Charles’ shoulder. He squinted at the faded writing from the last century.

“Are you researching family trees?”

“In a way. I’m trying to get an idea just when the mutants came to Shadowside Creek, what happened to their parents, how they managed to stay hidden and survive.”

“By going back almost one hundred years?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t found much in recent history.”

“So you’re grasping straws.”

Charles sighed and put the family tree onto the desk. “Yes and no. I’m not sure the mutants are as young as they look. They might be in their fifties for all we know, projecting an image. Their mental age is very young.”

“And we might never find out. Charles, this is becoming an obsession. You found dozens of mutants the very first time you used Cerebro. Thousands more since then. You can’t save them all.”

“No, but we can try to make allies. They are reaching out to me.”

Erik fought for calmness. He wanted to throttle his lover, wanted to shake some sense into him. ::They’re not exactly helping you help them:: he remarked acidly.

Charles inclined his head. ::No. But maybe…::

::Charles…::

He stopped, gazing at the piles. “I think they are lost. Inside their own heads, Erik. They know only themselves. It’s all they had for all their lives. Maybe they had a family once…”

“And that family is dead. Gone. Lost.” Erik knew he was being cold and brutal.

“Maybe.”

“Charles, you can’t believe that there is someone out there…”

The expression in the blue eyes was firm, unyielding, and Erik sighed.

“I want to talk to them again,” Charles stated.

Erik felt something cold pass through him, his stomach clenching, his blood boiling with rage. He stared at the other man, drawn between rage, violence and defeat. He couldn’t stop the telepath from contacting the twins, nor could he stop them from talking to Charles.

“I can stop them,” Charles argued, picking up his concerns.

Erik glared at him. “Didn’t look like it when you were puking your guts out!”

“They surprised me.”

“They do so every time!”

Charles sighed. Their argument was going back and forth in that regard and he couldn’t win. Erik was fiercely protective of him and would never give in an inch.

“Erik,” he tried, but his partner had none of it.

Erik gave him a dark look and broke off the argument by leaving. Charles could have pursued this telepathically, but he didn’t.

The other man needed time.

Charles was willing to give it to him.

  
tbc...


	7. Chapter 7

  
“Why are we here?”

Azazel looked around the wreckage. Broken wood, deformed nails, twisted metal everywhere. His tail curled slightly behind him, sharp eyes scanning the woods around them.

“They were here.”

Riptide picked his way across the clearing. He was dressed in thick winter clothes, his boots covered in mud and snow.

“And they’re gone.”

The red-skinned teleporter frowned. He wore his usual black, though a little warmer than normal. He didn’t freeze easily.

“So why are we here?” Riptide repeated.

“Because even if they’re gone, they keep coming back. I want to know what they are.”

Riptide rolled his eyes. “Why?”

“They are a risk.”

“To Xavier.”

“To all of us.” Azazel looked at him. The almost white, light blue eyes narrowed. “You saw what they manifested. You saw how powerful they are. We can defeat a physical opponent, but their powers are within their minds.”

Riptide frowned. He had faced the monster, the impossible creation that was both real and just a figment. It had been physical; it had nearly killed Lensherr. Now the twins were reaching for Xavier and they were too close for comfort.

“They’re gone,” he repeated again, walking through the slushy snow-mud mixture.

With a thought he created a small wind-plough and pushed more snow away from the cabin’s wreckage. There was nothing at all. No personal belongings, no hint anyone had truly lived here.

“They were never here,” Azazel said, disturbing the silence that had fallen. “I can’t believe they would have been able to survive out here. It was their hiding place, maybe they lured people into thinking this was the haunted cabin, but they must have lived somewhere else.”

“Big forest,” Riptide murmured, looking at the mixture of evergreen trees and bare branches.

“The land for sale spans a limited area.”

“You’re guessing.”

It got him a grin.

“And you’re having fun,” Riptide accused him darkly.

“Aren’t you, comrade?” Azazel walked past, his tail wrapping around the other man’s wrist and pulling him along.

“Oh, stop that!” Riptide growled and freed his hand. The grip had been light at best.

But he followed as the taller mutant went into the woods, determined to find something; anything.

Azazel bared his teeth in a grin of triumph when they walked into another clearing, this one home to a rustic looking cabin that was well-maintained and a lot smaller than the destroyed one had been. It looked abandoned, though.

He teleported inside as Riptide waited, exploring the surrounding area. The dark-haired mutant was tense, expecting the monster to come rushing at him any moment.

Everything was quiet, though.

Azazel reappeared, almost startling him. Riptide glowered at him, which had the demonic mutant grin briefly.

“Empty. Lived in, not too long ago, and now abandoned.”

They went inside and Riptide nodded to himself. This had been the twins’ true home. The place had one large room that was connected by a ladder to the second floor, which spanned half the ground floor. A gallery opened the view below. Upstairs were the beds, actually just mattresses on the ground. Downstairs were a few kitchen utensils, an ancient stove, pillows, blankets and well-read, ancient looking books.

Riptide picked one up and wasn’t really surprised to see the stamp from a second hand bookstore from Shadowside Creek. He tossed the book at the pile.

Azazel had checked the pillows and blankets. “Taken from the ski resort, a motel in town and even a private home.” He held up a quilted baby blanket.

“They went into town.”

“Lensherr saw a little girl once while looking for the mutant.”

Riptide nodded. “So they walk into town, twisting everyone’s minds?”

“Might be fooling us right now, too.”

“They usually call their pet monster.”

Azazel chuckled and threw the blanket down. “Maybe. Maybe not. If I were them, I’d have counted my losses and left.”

“That’s the thing,” Riptide toed through the old paperbacks, “you’re not like them. No one is. They think differently.”

“Then you won’t mind making sure they won’t be back,” Azazel only said, leaving the cabin.

Dark brows rose, then Riptide chuckled. “No, I won’t.”

He followed.

When they were at a safe distance, he turned his hands palms up, calling two twisters to form in them. His hair whipped in the wind. Then he released them, the force of nature tearing into the cabin and destroying it as effectively as Erik had the derelict cover.

Silence settled.

“He earned your loyalty,” Riptide remarked, brushing wood particles off his jacket.

“He’s powerful.”

Riptide tilted his head, not sure who his friend meant. He respected them both, saw their different strengths, their abilities, their determination, their loyalties. Xavier had offered them a way of life neither had had before: teaching, helping. Not fighting. They still did that when Frost made a show and got in the way of things. It was different from Shaw, thought. They were no longer pawns. Riptide appreciated the change of pace, he liked his new life-style, and he enjoyed classes.

“Both are,” he said slowly.

Azazel grinned. “You could have left. You stayed, too.”

Riptide chuckled. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? Who knows why?” He started to walk away, looking over his shoulder once.

The teleporter watched the other man, then laughed to himself, shaking his head. “Dancing,” he rumbled to himself. “Dancing and dancing around and around.” His tail moved back and forth. “Time to call a stop soon.”

He followed Riptide, who had stopped behind the line of trees, waiting. He grabbed his hand and initiated the teleport home.

* * *

The next contact didn’t come for another forty-eight hours. Charles hadn’t learned a lot about Shadowside Creek. At least nothing that might help him. Missing persons happened, accidents happened, people had moved away, had died, had married, had left town at night and never come back. To check them all would have gone above and beyond everything.

So when they spoke to him again, Charles tried to find out more about them.

*We have been here always* they answered, as always in one voice.

::You were born there?::

*Always here*

Charles sighed. There was no communicating with them like with other people. And he wasn’t a psychologist. He also wasn’t a doctor. Something had happened to the twins and they had retreated into their minds, shying away from human contact.

*Hurts* they told him.

They had mentioned it before. As if talking to others hurt? Or being around others?

*Others hurt*

::But not me?::

*Everyone*

Charles frowned, trying to get closer without hurting them more. ::Why do you talk to me then?::

They were silent, radiating confusion, puzzlement, then they were gone.

Charles blinked his eyes open, immediately aware of Erik close by. Fingers curled around Charles’ wrists, steadying him, keeping him balanced. Gray eyes, intense and deep, regarded him closely. Charles felt a little more sick than normal, but not as bad as many times before. The headache was a given, as was the brief sense of disorientation.

He had had worse. A lot worse.

Erik scowled as he picked up that thought.

Charles smiled a little. “Small steps,” he only said.

Erik released his wrists and straightened abruptly. Through the anchor he was still close enough for Charles to feel the reassuring pulses of the strong mind, but physically he was burning off his anger. A lamp caved in under the power of his gift and Charles raised an eyebrow at the display of fear mixed with anger.

“Don’t,” Erik just growled, then he turned and left the room, the door opening and closing automatically under his wordless command.

Charles leaned back, eyes on the closed door, feeling the faint headache linger on. Erik still wasn’t shutting him off from the anchor, but the anger was painful enough. Not that he did it on purpose, but his temper was running amok whenever the twins came into play. Charles understood; he would probably react the same if Erik was the target. But he wasn’t. And Charles didn’t feel like he was a target. He was trying to help.

In the end he left the room, changed into his sweat pants, a t-shirt and a sweater jacket, and started to run. He wasn’t an athlete, but he kept himself in shape. Erik had been adamant about it anyway. Not that Charles had been a slouch, but he had never worked out rigorously. Letting his mind drift, he jogged across the manor grounds, alone with his thoughts. His feet crunched through snow and gravel. It was cold and his breath fogged in front of him, but the cool weather felt good. His skin was pink and cold when he finally returned, the weather had turned a little for the worse, and a few flakes were drifting across the sky. Clouds were overhead, threatening more snow.

Charles was awaited by Hank. He was holding a pile of papers and Charles knew what it was about. Cerebro. It had been weeks now, the room had been cleaned out and gutted, and Hank was ready to go. He wanted to rebuild his invention and only his fear of Erik’s reaction was holding him back. Lensherr had made it clear that without safety measures he would tear it all apart once more.

So Hank had designed those.

“I’ll have a look at it,” Charles promised as he placed the papers onto his desk.

He stripped, showered, feeling much better after the run and the hot shower, and walked back into the room. He wasn’t surprised to find Erik in their living room, beer in hand.

“Dinner?” Charles teased lightly, nodding at the beer.

“Appetizer.”

Charles dried his hair, the longish strands flopping messily across his forehead. He felt a shiver of arousal coming from Erik and it had him smile a little. The hungry look in the gray eyes had nothing to do with food in general or dinner in particular.

“I believe Anna made tuna casserole,” Charles remarked.

Erik emptied his beer and got up, walking over to where Charles was perusing Hank’s suggestions for the new Cerebro. He slipped an arm around the slender waist and kissed his jaw.

“Hank is scared of you,” Charles remarked, eyes twinkling.

“Huh. Figure that.”

“He thinks you’ll tear Cerebro apart again if he messes up with the safety measures.”

“Right he is.”

::Erik…::

::I’m not letting this thing hurt you again!::

And back they were with the arguments. Charles looked at him, twinkle gone, face hardening.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Erik drew back like slapped. “This isn’t about trust, Charles!” he hissed.

“I think it is. Because you don’t know what it is you’re up against. My abilities aren’t a measurable physical force. You don’t know what to do, what to fight, so you took it out on Cerebro. But Cerebro didn’t hurt me. I hurt myself. I was not careful enough. It won’t happen again.”

The tension was almost palpable and Erik looked ready to snap.

“It will,” he predicted darkly. “Because they overwhelm you and I’m useless in that fight!”

“Erik…”

“You can’t be that naïve, Charles! They are dangerous!”

“They are children!”

“They are dangerous! Being a child doesn’t change that, Charles!”

The mood was gone and Charles felt the headache again, creeping up on him, threatening him. He shielded the anchor point, against better knowledge, and guardedly looked at his lover.

“Would you abandon a mutant, child or grown-up, just like that?”

“They don’t want help!” Erik yelled. “They have been on their own for god-knows-how-long!”

“Because they never knew there were others.”

“They chase others away!”

Charles rubbed his forehead, feeling tired of the argument again. “I’m hungry,” he finally said. “And tuna casserole sounds fine.” He walked toward the door, very much aware of the sharp eyes staring holes into his back.

Erik didn’t accompany him.

And Charles let the shield stay.

  
tbc...


	8. Chapter 8

  
Erik wasn’t in the room when he came back a lot later, actually around 2 a.m. in the morning after he had spent long hours with Hank, going over Cerebro 3.5.

So he went to bed alone, falling almost immediately asleep. The pain medication helped.

*

He had chosen to walk the mansion grounds, the physical activity helping to keep his anger in check. At first he had thought that the training facilities might help stave off a full-blown temper outbreak, but he was way past that, Erik knew. He had given in to his instinctual reaction to a threat, turning cold and calculating and pushing at whatever there was that threatened him.

Any kind of threat.

The weather was cold and it was snowing lightly, but the flakes didn’t bother him. Nor did the cold. He had had worse.

Bundled up in a winter jacket, a hat, scarf and gloves, Erik stalked across what had once been the lawn before winter had claimed it. No one else was outside, except maybe one or both shape-changers. They seemed to be addicted to snow. Blu behaved like a puppy, nosing around and playing hide and seek, and Eugene was only too happy to stretch his legs and let the kitsune in him play with a like-minded four-legged furball.

Not this evening, though.

Erik stopped at the edge of the forest, gazing into the approaching gloom. In a parallel world he had been found here, by a parallel Charles, and saved. In this world, though, things were different.

No, no they weren’t.

Charles had saved him, too. A lot earlier and in a different way. Before Charles there had been nothing. No future, no hope, no life. Only orders and death and bleakness. Charles had given him life and he had given him his powers. Shaw might have triggered him, had discovered the wonder that was his mutation – his curse. As a child he had seen it as his curse. A power that couldn’t be anything but a tool for a powerful man who had controlled him. It hadn’t been enough to save his father or his mother. It hadn’t been enough to end a war and save his people.

His revenge had been pitiful in comparison, exterminating a few lives while the majority had gone into hiding and still lived in pomp and glory somewhere.

Erik felt the old pain and fury bubble to the surface.

No, Shaw hadn’t given him anything. He had created, he had forced, he had shaped with cruelty and coldheartedness. Shaw had tried to force open the door that hid the mutation, but he had only cracked the lock a little.

Charles had freed him. Charles had undone the lock with a gentle touch, with the brush of his mind, with a painless caress. He had looked upon Erik Lensherr with wonder, with amazement, had told him he was beautiful and brilliant and wonderful. He hadn’t been afraid, he hadn’t demanded, he had treated him no different than anyone else.

He had won Erik’s reluctant trust, his loyalty, and then his love. Charles was worth fighting for, worth protecting, worth everything. Shaw had never been close to that. Shaw had been the enemy he had served because there had been no escape. He had been an innocent child.

The child was still there, buried underneath two decades of killing, fighting, torture, pain and devastation. Erik had lived many lives in those two decades, but none had ever been like this. He had never been appreciated for who he was, just for what he represented: ultimate power.

Charles looked upon all mutants, strong or weak, physically deformed or different, young or old, the same. He looked into their souls.

Erik shivered. It had nothing to do with the cold around him. His breath fogged in front of his face and he felt the snow settle on his hat. The mansion was a bright beacon of light in the distance, the forest nothing but darkness. He turned and walked slowly back, taking the long way.

Charles was worth everything. Charles was his lifesaver. Charles was someone who had never judged him by his past, nor by his actions, and he knew him. Knew everything. Erik had been aghast the first time he had heard it from the telepath’s lips. His past was dark and cold and cruel, filled with things he didn’t want to remember. Charles had grown up so differently, had never known so much pain and suffering, but he hadn’t flinched back.

Why?

How could one man be that strong, face all of this and not turn insane? And push Erik away?  
He had never truly understood, but his mind and soul had betrayed him. He had found emotions that he hadn’t understood, only slowly accepting that he could love, could feel this gentleness, this calmness around another being, and be so very protective.

Charles wasn’t Shaw. Had never been. He couldn’t compare those men because one had dominated and demanded and had felt no compassion. Shaw had been a master, but he had ruled with torture and pain. Charles never demanded, only offered.

Which was the reason why he wouldn’t stop doing what he did. He would continue using Cerebro, which angered Erik when he thought of the device. A machine that invaded a human mind and was painful and draining and deadly.

Like Erik had been under Shaw’s control.

He clenched his teeth.

Cerebro was their tool to find more like them, offer the mutants in this world a safe haven, a place to learn about themselves, to talk to others, to discover they weren’t alone. Cerebro could only be controlled by Charles. That was his main issue. Erik had no influence on Cerebro, couldn’t help. Just like he was helpless against the twins. His gift was a physical application; his mind was vulnerable and he couldn’t fight with Charles.

Gazing at the mansion that rose in front of him, some windows lit up, some dark, he knew there was no solution to his problem. Charles was a strong telepath, maybe even the strongest on this planet. He sure as Hell was stronger than Emma Frost, who had never actively engaged him in a battle of wills.

Only once.

She had lost.

It gave Erik a dark satisfaction to know how strong his partner was. Charles was a force to be reckoned with and like everyone at the school, he was still growing. Five years since Shaw and he had grown exponentially in his powers, in what he could do, and Erik was proud. Just as Charles was proud of Erik’s accomplishments.

And like five years ago he still felt the wonder and fascination he had experienced when they had first met. On board a military vessel, off the coast of Miami, Charles saving his life and then smiling at him while they changed into drier clothes. Erik had never, never seen anyone react to him like this. No calculating looks, no fear, no apprehension, no immediate attempt to control the metalbender. Just… openness, wonder and this brilliance that was breath-taking and addictive.

No, he wouldn’t give this up. Ever. And he would fight whoever and whatever threatened them. Cerebro was a threat. So were the twins. Cerebro he could help make safer. The twins were an unknown factor.

Erik walked into the mansion, headed for the kitchen, and raided the fridge for an early morning snack. It was by now four a.m. and while he felt tired, he wasn’t ready to turn in. The walk had done him a lot of good, but he was far from controlled.

He stayed in the silent kitchen, using the cutlery and a few minutes later some pots and pans to work off his frustration with Charles. Not really frustration, not even true annoyance. Maybe not even Charles. Charles was Charles; there was no changing him. Erik had never tried and he had stopped trying to understand him in that regard. It was his own inability to be of use when it came to psychic attacks. He had been under such a few times already, had felt the power behind these invasions. He couldn’t fight it, couldn’t defend himself, other than wearing the helmet…

A coldness settled in his stomach and he nearly lost control of the metal objects cruising through the kitchen. He quickly reassumed control and settled everything back where it belonged. Anna would have his head otherwise and she was, for a human, a formidable woman not to be trifled with.

The helmet. Magneto. The two words left a bad taste in his mouth. He knew the end result of what had happened in the parallel world and it had only enforced his resolutions. He would never be this man and he would never wear the helmet ever again. If he did, it would probably send Charles into a shock, a coma, maybe even death. The anchor was a vital part of their lives, was needed, Charles needed it… And he needed Charles.

Erik knew he was turning in circles, that he couldn’t solve his problems. He knew he couldn’t protect Charles as much as he wanted to.

But he could try.

And he could compromise.

The fights of the last few days had shown him that he needed to loosen up a little, just like Charles needed to stop being so damnably stubborn. While it was endearing and even hot – Erik had to grin at that – it was also not helping them along.

A low rumbling sound had him look at the partially open kitchen door. Blu, looking alert and only slightly wet, gave him a curious look. Erik pointed his finger at the kitchen door, using his power to push it shut. He grinned when the shape-changer rumbled again and the clicking sound of paws on hardwood told him Blu was moving on.

Erik took the back entrance out onto the grounds again, watching the first signs of dawn approach, then took the outside route back to the entrance closest enough to where their rooms were located.

* * *

Erik was there in the morning, looking tired, like he hadn’t slept the whole night. Charles could feel the exhaustion roll off him in waves. There had been no forms of contact with the twins and Charles had slept deeply, soundly.

Not so his lover.

“I apologize,” Erik said roughly.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Charles replied.

“So you always take the abuse and smile?”

Charles pulled him close, slid his hands under the leather jacket to brush over the woolen sweater. It was black. What other color would Erik wear anyway?

“You never abused me. Never have, never will.”

It got him a shaky laugh. “I marvel at your trust.”

::Erik, I always trusted you. Completely. I know you. I know everything about you::

The taller man shivered and held him tight. Charles caught so much, everything, completely.

::I never doubted you. I never feared you:: he murmured. ::I love you and I trust you with this connection; never anyone else::

Erik buried his face in the wavy hair, hands clenching into Charles’ back. ::I fear myself, Charles. I’m terrified of hurting you, of being… inadequate. Your anchor… I can’t help you!::

::You already do; more than I can put into words::

::But when they overwhelm you…::

Charles brushed their lips together, gentle and caring. ::I’m not a newcomer to this, Erik. I can fight it. I just have to adjust. It takes a while. And I need you. Don’t think you’re not doing anything. You’re more than you can ever fathom, Erik.::

He knew the insecurities were still there. Erik couldn’t hide it from him. Since he couldn’t understand the full implications of being an anchor he saw himself as passive, incapable of doing more. But he did so much more.

::How can I show you?:: Charles whispered. ::It’s nothing tangible. It’s there, between us, only us, and it’s so strong… but you can’t touch it.::

Erik looked at him, turmoiled. They had talked about this before, but it had never been to his satisfaction. He was a man of action, he could defend himself, he could protect Charles, but not when it came to telepathic attacks. He was as vulnerable as everyone, and with Charles’ connection to him he saw himself as a weakness, too.

Charles sent denial, wrapped himself around him, held him tight.

::We are what we are. And we can deal with whatever comes:: he murmured.

It didn’t really make Erik happy, but it was the truth.

tbc...


	9. Chapter 9

  
The children were anything if not perceptive when it came to fights between Charles and Erik. Erik wore his mood like a second skin. His face was a mask, his eyes dark and holding a warning for anyone. He spent a lot of time either in the training room or outside on the grounds. The training room looked like someone had taken a metal shredder and emptied it in there. Alex, who liked to train there as well, gave the facility a wide berth.

Charles was the opposite. He acted like nothing had happened, like he and his partner weren’t at odds concerning recent events, and he held classes. But those who knew him, saw. And they watched with a worried eye.

When the storm hit Westchester and the power broke down, the domestic trouble took a back seat to the need to get the power back up and the heating running. Charles had massive generators underground and it wasn’t long until they had power running again, but even with the lights on, the heat keeping the rooms warm, the howling outside was scary. The children were in the common room, playing games, talking, reading, anything not to be on their own as the old mansion weathered the storm.

A ton of junk food was readily available to ease the tension and Charles kept a close eye on them, watching their minds for any kind of spike of fear or even terror. Even Ororo was cowed by the force outside, and she had the ability to control the weather. But she was young and hadn’t even scratched the surface of her abilities just yet.

“I could try,” she offered, looking out into the raging storm. “To quiet it.”

She glanced at Charles. The telepath smiled warmly at her.

“Let it run its course,” Charles only said. “It’s not the best way to train right now.”

Because it was violent and it was only just gaining in strength. Forecasts, before the radio had died, had been for lots of snow, dropping temperatures and thunderstorms. People in rural areas had hunkered down, aware that they might be cut off from civilization for a while, and the cities were battling power outages.

The children went to sleep, making it a camp-out in the common room, complete with mattresses pulled off beds, sleeping bags and ghost stories. Charles smiled to himself, feeling warm and content watching his charges, young and old, sit together and battle their fears and unease. He noticed how Ororo kept looking at the windows, which were shuttered and drapes pulled closed.

“You can feel it?” he asked when the girl went about making her bed, stopping now and then to glance at the windows.

She shrugged. “In a way. It’s this intense sensation, knowing it’s out there, feeling the energy of the storm.”

“Try to detach yourself from it,” he advised. “Or it will eat you up.”

“It’s hard, Professor.”

He smiled at her. “I know.”

Because detachment was a problem for him, too. He had learned the hard way that he couldn’t be in everyone’s mind, couldn’t read all thoughts and emotions, that he had to think of himself and shield his mind to stop a fatal overload.

That’s where the anchor came in.

His thoughts involuntarily turned to Erik, whom he hadn’t seen for a while now.

He waited for the children to fall asleep, then walked the silent mansion. It was dark, quiet, the storm howling outside the old walls, and here or there a shutter creaked. He didn’t feel tired. Erik was occupying his mind again and he wondered where his lover was. Charles didn’t scan actively for anyone in the house, could only tell that he wasn’t alone, but the anchor was strangely shielded, and since that hadn’t happened for a long time, ever since the accident…

He sighed and fought down the irritation mixed with fear. Instead, annoyance rose inside him. He and Erik weren’t glued together at the hip; they were their own persons. They had had fights before, as couples had…

Charles had to smile at the word. Couple. They were a couple. A strange couple, but two people who had found together nevertheless. If asked who he would see himself with in five years time, he wouldn’t have been able to tell. He couldn’t care less about gender issues. It was simply the whole man himself. Erik was his opposite in so many things, from ideas to abilities to education and upbringing. Would the Charles Xavier of five years ago even have considered Erik Lensherr a possible partner? And would Erik have chosen him?

“I would,” a low voice told him, startling the telepath.

Charles stopped, looking into the darkness ahead. He saw nothing, could maybe believe there was a faint outline, but he could feel someone. He could feel Erik, felt the low thrum of the other presence, and the shield between him and his partner vibrated like under pressure.

“How can you say that?” he asked, his voice unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent hallway.

Somewhere above, the shutters creaked under an onslaught of wind.

“Because you are irresistible, Charles,” came the disembodied voice.

And then there was movement. Slightly to the left from where Charles’ eyes had made him believe Erik was. The taller man walked closer, all sinewy grace and coiled strength. Erik had heard him think, which told Charles that he had been projecting and his lover had been listening.

“I would hardly call myself that,” he objected.

The gray eyes, dark in the shadowed face, fixed him with an almost hungry expression. “You have no idea what effect you have on people.”

Charles chuckled. “Shouldn’t girls be throwing themselves at me then? My track record at the pubs was abysmal at best. I couldn’t keep up with the physically more… endowed men.”

Erik grinned feraly. “They have no idea what they missed then.”

Charles felt heat rise in his face. For some reason Erik had that effect when he regarded the telepath with that expression, like Charles was the best treat, the one thing never to be shared with anyone. A treasure.

“You are the most annoying, irresistible, adorable, infuriating and loving man I ever met, Charles Xavier. You’re also the only one who never turned your back on me, who never feared me. Even Shaw was afraid of who I had become under his guidance.”

Charles met the hard eyes. “How can I be afraid of what I know?” he asked simply.

“I could have killed you. I nearly did. You know that in a parallel life I took your legs.”

“But in this reality you didn’t. And what happened to the others was an accident your parallel self never wanted to happen. It wasn’t his intent.”

Erik released a breath of annoyance and frustration.

“And we will fight like any two people sharing a life.”

“You mean ‘couple’.”

Charles smiled more. “Yes. If you can call us that.”

Erik regarded him silently, then reached out and cupped his face. Charles leaned into the touch and stepped forward, wrapping his arm around Erik.

“And I will always forgive you,” he said softly. “I will always love you. And I will always annoy you.” The last was said with a little laugh.

“You probably will.”

“I can’t help who I am, Erik.”

“Annoying? Irritating? Idealistic? Naïve? And the list goes on.”

Charles tilted his head, looking at his friend, lover, partner, and smiled. “Yes. It probably does.”

Erik grimaced.

“But this is my life, Erik. I want to help mutants, people like us, and there are so many different mutations out there, it’s breathtaking and humbling and awe-inspiring and so amazing… I can’t but study it, look at it, want to understand it.”

Erik brushed the fingers of his left hand over Charles’ temple. “At what price? You sanity?”

“I’m not destructive,” Charles told him calmly, firmly; determined to make the other mutant understand. “I know I can’t save the world,” Erik gave a snort of laughter at that, “but I can reach out and offer a hand.”

“For them to chop it off.”

“They aren’t aggressive by nature.”

And they were back to the old argument again. Erik closed his eyes, visibly fighting with himself again, then he just buried his head against Charles’ neck.

“You loveable idiot.”

Charles chuckled and held him, enjoying the physical contact. A violent gust of wind made him look up. The roof was two stories above; he hoped it wasn’t about to take off.

“The children are sleeping,” Erik remarked, voice low and throaty; filled with suggestions that had Charles tingle.

The wind outside was terrifying, even in here, and he wondered who in his right mind would want to be outside right now. It was barely midnight and they would probably have to tunnel out in the morning.

Erik was busy snaking his hands underneath Charles’ vest and shirt, his lips and teeth at the telepath’s neck. Charles moaned and the shields wavered, then dropped. He felt the anchor line burn and it stoked a fire inside him.

::Want you:: Erik projected.

They were far from their own bedroom and while the children were all asleep in the common room, Charles wasn’t that experimental.

::You are:: Erik teased, hands pushing away the clothes that were in his way.

Charles felt his belt buckle undo itself and he grinned. ::Interesting appliance of your abilities::

::Hm, thought as much::

 

It was the first time Charles Xavier had sex out in the open, in the manor, right in the hallways. The storm howled strongly around them, rattling the shutters, creaking against the roof, tearing the last leaves off the trees.

Erik looked down at the man underneath him, took in the disheveled, half-dressed appearance, the smooth face flushed, a light sheen of sweat glinting in the meager light, and he knew he could never let this go. Never. Not now, not in fifty years. And especially not over some stupid arguments.

Charles’ smile was warm and loving and soft and belying what power lurked behind this façade. A gentle hand carded through Erik’s equally disheveled hair, playing with the strands.

No words were lost.

But enough had been spoken.

* * *

The storm hadn’t kept him up. He hadn’t gone to sleep yet.

Someone had kept him up.

Azazel grinned to himself as he pulled on his black shirt, walking barefooted out into the hallway, heading for the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised to find another late-night visitor.

Erik Lensherr stood with his back against the sink, eyes on the window and the dark landscape outside. Now and then the wind caught somewhere and howled around the manor, but mostly the sounds were muted. By sunrise they would be snowed in for sure.

Gray eyes, hard and wary and not the least bit sleepy, fixed on him, then the man took a swallow from his beer.

“Late night, comrade?” Azazel teased as he opened the fridge, searching through the contents. He found another beer and opened it.

Erik raised his half empty bottle, smiling. “Same to you, too.”

“Did they contact Xavier again?”

The metalbender rubbed a thumb over the condensation of the bottle. “Yes.”

Azazel leaned against the table, regarding the other man. “They are still there.”

It got him a grunt, but the expression in the narrow face sharpened.

“We found another cabin. They lived there.”

“Why did you go back?”

Azazel drank deeply. “Because they are a danger.”

It got him a cold smile. “Not to you.”

“You doubt my loyalty?”

“No,” was the slow answer.

The teleporter chuckled. “Did he read me?”

Erik’s smile was glacial, dangerous, with an edge of darkness. “Charles isn’t Shaw.”

“True.”

“So your loyalty to him isn’t based on what Shaw had on you.”

Azazel’s eyes narrowed. He refused to be baited.

“What I do know is that you and Riptide stayed. Your free choice. You helped Charles and me and the children. You fought against the monster and you got me out of there.” He nodded his thanks. “But you didn’t have to go back. You didn’t have to search for them.”

“They are dangerous. We both know that,” Azazel answered. “They keep coming back. They are stronger than him.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Two against one.”

“Still not the right kind of math.”

His tail twisted a little. “Then tell me he could take them out.”

Lensherr was silent and when he finally looked up from the contemplation of the floor, his eyes were dark and foreboding.

“He could, Azazel. His abilities are more than what you know. More than I can fathom. He could do it and it would haunt him, but if they threatened this school, the students, the teachers… anyone, he would take action.”

The voice gave the teleporter a chill. It was a voice of truth, of someone who knew. And he didn’t doubt it.

“That’s who I’m loyal to,” he simply said into the silence.

“And Riptide?”

“He made his own choices. Freely.” His tail twisted again and he emptied the bottle. “You are correct that he isn’t like Shaw. He has a soul.”

Azazel put the bottle on the table and left. Lensherr didn’t stop him. Passing by the high windows he stopped and gazed outside. Snowing. Still snowing.

Normally he would have sought out a more comfortable place by now. In the beginning he and Riptide had left for days on end, sometimes even weeks that turned into one or two months. Now they were part of the school and he hadn’t felt the need to go anywhere. Daytrips mostly. Nothing else. Riptide had taken an interest in Ororo and her powers. The girl was happy to see someone else with elemental powers and she had made great progress. Riptide was proud of her. Azazel could tell.

No, he hadn’t felt the need to leave.

He was at home here.

It was why he had gone back to Shadowside Creek.

Teleporting back into his room, which was on the east side and the first floor, he found it as he had left it. The lights were out, the curtains drawn except for a small opening that let him see the snow falling. He walked over to the bed and slid inside.

“Nightcap?” a sleepy voice asked.

He chuckled, a deep rumble coming from his chest. A slender, warm body plastered itself against his side, then the other fell asleep, breath evening out.

Azazel closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.


	10. Chapter 10

  
Erik rarely ventured out into town on his own. He was usually assigned as a baby-sitter for the children, which he grumbled about but never refused to do. He took them to see movies, have ice cream and, on one memorable occasion, clothes shopping. Charles had had to listen to the other man’s complaints for days. Apparently girls of a certain age were worse than baby-sitting a sack of fleas. Erik had had more luck keeping the boys under control than the clothes-shopping girls.

Charles enjoyed himself as they walked down the old-town front of Salem Center. It was a nice day, though snowy, and the sun was out, giving it all a kind of wonderful atmosphere. Christmas was everywhere and Erik looked at the decorations with a mixture of dread, despair and annoyance. It wasn’t his first Christmas at the manor and it wouldn’t be his last, but he had never really gotten into the spirit like others. That he had gotten a knit sweater from the children at his first Christmas had been a source of fun and hilarity for Charles. The sweater still existed, somewhere under a pile of boxes and whatnot in the depths of their shared closet space.

Red lights winked at them from shop windows. There were reindeer, Santa Clauses of all sizes and gaudiness, singing snowmen, fake trees and angels of various sizes and color choices. The bakery looked like a gigantic cookie box and it smelled delicious even out on the streets.

Charles was smiling brightly, nodding at the people on the streets as they shopped and dragged complaining children along, the men spending a lot of time in the hardware store while their wives did the shopping. Erik felt the pull of metal all around him, but most pronouncedly at the hardware store.

::Want to wait while I shop?:: Charles teased.

::Don’t tempt me:: came the grumbled reply.

Not that there were any concrete shopping plans anyway. Charles had wanted to get out of the manor for a few hours and Erik had been only too happy. So they had gone to town, which was about thirty minutes drive from the Xavier mansion. Erik was aware of the fact that he was playing shadow, that he was severely encroaching on Charles’ privacy. Yes, they were a couple. Yes, they shared a room. Yes, they were telepathically connected. It still didn’t mean that Erik was wherever Charles was, or vice versa.

Right now he felt more protective than he could remember. If the twins contacted his telepath again, he would be there. Physically, too.

Charles was pretty much aware of those thoughts if the mild amusement in the blue eyes was any indication.

 _Screw it all_ , Erik thought darkly. He didn’t care.

Charles didn’t do a lot of Christmas shopping. If he wanted to give everyone at the mansion something he would run out of money soon. Erik had voted against a gift exchange. He had never celebrated Christmas in his life and he wasn’t the person to feel festive on demand. He liked the atmosphere through the holidays, he would watch sappy movies, but he drew the line at carol singing and decorating a tree.

A tree existed, of course. A huge affair in the common room that sparkled and blinked and smelled of the forest. The students took great delight in decorating it. Erik usually sat at the other end of the room, surreptitiously watching them, just in case an accident happened. Charles never commented on his 'mother henning', though Azazel had no such qualms.

Walking through town, wrapped up in thick coats and warm hats, the two men window-shopped for a while, then had a light lunch, went back outside, and finally found themselves in the park. The pond had frozen over, the pathways were packed in snow, and children of all ages were playing, building snowmen and having snowball fights.

Charles looked happy. Relaxed. Like he had no care in the world. Erik smiled a little, trying not to stare too much, but it was hard. Charles looking like this made him want to kiss him, made him want to bury his hands underneath the clothes and feel the warm skin. He wanted to get him home, lock the door and not let this wonderful man out until next year.

::Who would feed me?:: Charles asked.

Erik looked away from the laughing eyes, the knowing expression. His face was already reddened from the cold, but now a flush of heat warmed it. He shifted, uncomfortably away how exposed they were.

::They don’t see us:: Charles murmured and stepped in front of him.

“What?” he stammered.

Charles grinned. “You always told me that even we need to train; especially me. I am training. No one has been aware of us since lunch.”

Erik stared. He really stared. Hearing Charles, understanding what he meant, comprehending the scale…

Hell!

It had been hours since lunch! It was already growing a little dusky and they would have to get back to the car and drive home soon…

How could he still underestimate this man? The sheer power…

Erik wanted to pull him close, wanted to ravish him, wanted to dive into that impossibly sexy mind and feel the thrum of the power, wanted to be part of it.

“You are,” Charles murmured, almost nose to nose with him. “You are very much part of me.”

He kissed him. Rough and demanding and shoving him back against a tree. Charles dug his fingers into the thick coat, held Erik close, wanted him closer.

::What you do to me…:: he whispered harshly. ::God, Charles…::

The demonstration of power only drove home that despite everything, Charles Xavier wasn’t weak or defenseless. He needed the anchor, but he had existed without it for all his life.

::I need you. Always will:: Charles whispered. ::I always did. Until we met I never knew…::

Erik kissed him again, biting at the lower lip, shaking hard. It was something he felt; what he had felt from the start but hadn’t understand.

No one saw them. No one gave them even a passing glance. Charles was influencing them all…

 _Hell_ , Erik thought again. He knew how powerful his lover was, but this demonstration had him scared and elated in one.

“Home,” Charles whispered.

* * *

“I want to learn about it,” Erik said the next morning as he shoveled whatever had been placed in front of him into his mouth, eyes scanning the pages of the morning papers.

Charles leaned over his shoulder, scanning the print, trying to find whatever Erik was talking about on the page of the newspaper, reaching over to lift one corner which had folded forward. Having failed to find anything that would interest his partner to any real degree, he dropped a kiss to the side of Erik’s throat.

“About what?”

Erik closed and folded the newspaper, placing it on the table where it stayed for all of ten seconds before Alex stole it.

It would be a small miracle if the paper had been delivered, which it hadn’t been. It would have been a bigger miracle if it had been the New York Times. It wasn’t. It was actually the Washington Post and it had been brought by teleport. Azazel, for whatever reason, had spent the last night somewhere else, probably in the Washington D.C. area, and he had dumped the newspaper on the table when he had walked in.

Erik had only raised an eyebrow. Charles hadn’t said a word when he had seen the unfamiliar paper. Azazel had disappeared again with a grin.

Outside the manor, the snow was high enough to warrant a snow plough and they would have to do something about it sooner or later. Charles figured it would be a good training exercise for some of their students, and he was immensely looking forward to it.

“About the anchor,” Erik clarified, turning his eyes and a smile on Charles, catching him by surprise.

“I’ve told you everything, Erik, there’s nothing I’m keeping from you. I wouldn’t....”

Reaching out, Erik wrapped gentle fingers around one wrist. “It’s not information I’m asking for. I know you’ve told me everything you know. I want to find out what more you and I could do with it, how to protect it – how to protect you – from other mutants. Other telepaths.”

The twins, specifically, but he didn’t say it.

“I have defenses,” Charles assured, pulling out the chair next to Erik and seating himself. “I taught myself how to block from a very early age.”

“I’m not saying you’re not amazing,” he told him with a smile. “But they’ve already hurt you, Charles, they’ve put you in a coma and they’ve made you sick, and I want to work out what you and I can do together.” He could see the skepticism in Charles' face. "You know, you and I could rob banks, break into the federal reserve, steal… a space rocket! We could do anything, together. We’re stronger together, you said it yourself. Imagine how it would be if nothing, no one, could break us apart, no matter what? Imagine if we could be together even when we’re not.”

He felt a little bit guilty about using that particular argument, he knew how much the anchor meant to Charles. He had been increasingly surprised over the first few months of having it about how much it came to mean to him.

“It’s a good idea, despite your motives,” Charles said with a smile, and goddamnit when was he going to learn? It was difficult enough keeping strong surface thoughts and feelings from a powerful telepath but linked to one it was almost impossible.

 _Do you really want more?_

He looked at Charles, his lover, his partner, into blue eyes he’d be happy to drown in, and nodded.

“I want it all,” he murmured, keeping his voice low although Alex and Sean were involved in their own debate over something in the paper. “Charles, everything you are, everything you’re willing to share with me.”

Leaning into him, Charles let his forehead drop against Erik’s temple.

“I am willing to share my very soul with you,” he whispered. Erik closed his eyes and let the heat from Charles skin soak into his own.

He loved this man so much that sometimes it left him breathless and terrified. To have something this powerful in his life wasn’t something he’d seen coming, wasn’t something he’d ever imagined he would have. It was something he would protect with his life.

Charles lifted his head. “So where do we start?”

He pushed the strangely humbling thoughts from his mind and sat up. “Let’s start with what we can do,” he decided, turning in his chair.

“All right.”

“I can talk to you, communicate with you.” But Charles shook his head.

“You can’t. I can push my thoughts into your head and I can listen to your replies. If I wasn’t speaking and listening, we wouldn’t communicate because you’re not a telepath!”

“But I am connected to one,” Erik insisted, “that has to count for something.”

“It does. It means you get the raw end of the deal. Whenever my mind overloads, whenever it’s too much and I’m in danger of losing myself I have an anchor to you, a link that’s exclusively mine so that I… can find myself.”

“But you can use it to track me, to see through my eyes.”

“I don’t need the link to do that, as you know. It just helps at long distances.”

This was getting them nowhere. “It must be more, Charles! When it was broken, after the attack, you were in pain and I couldn’t feel you.”

“I was in pain because there was a hole in my mind! It’s a one way thing. You wouldn’t expect the seabed to be able to call a ship’s anchor down would you?”

The tone of his voice wasn’t negative, as such, and there was something he wasn’t saying, Erik could tell. He knew Charles too well.

“What aren’t you telling me? You said you thought it was a good idea for us to train.”

Charles sighed softly and shook his head. “No. I was wrong, we should just leave things as they are.”

“I don’t want to leave things as they are. I told you, I want everything. So what are you leaving out?”

Charles flattened his hands on the now otherwise empty breakfast table. The kids had vanished, possibly in anticipation of a full-blown domestic fight.

“It’s a connection,” he said eventually, each word individually dragged from him, “like a cable. It’s one way because that’s how I created it. But like most connections, it could be two-way. Not all the time, not permanently. It would be like… having a part of me in your head. We’d have to be careful, but in times of danger I could open it up, like an open channel on a radio.”

“That’s perfect!” It was just what Erik had been looking for.

“It’s far from perfect, my friend. It would expose you to anything that chose to attack me, to anyone trying to read my mind. It would mean our thoughts, feelings, experiences would be shared; all of it, everything. And it would end in you getting a terrible headache because you’re not used to having more than one person in your head!”

The idea was unbelievably exciting, and there was a part of Erik’s mind that was imagining all sorts of applications for it that weren’t danger-related.

“I could learn to get used to it the way you have.”

“I’ve had years of practice!”

“And hopefully so will I. At least let’s try it.”

“We need to be careful. I’ve never done anything like this before, it’s all theory. If something goes wrong…”

“It won’t. And you won’t hurt me, I have complete and utter faith in you.”

“Bastard.”

Charles was smiling, recognizing the very words he used all the time trying to talk his students into doing something they didn’t want to do, or more didn’t have the confidence in themselves to do. Erik knew he’d won.

“All right. But we take it slowly and if either of us thinks that something is wrong, we say so. You have to promise, Erik. If I hurt you…”

Erik knew. If they hurt each other, they’d never be able to forgive themselves. “I promise. So where do we start?”

  
tbc...

  



	11. Chapter 11

  
Charles had considered hiding out in the grounds, but there wasn’t anything particularly clever about following foot prints in deep snow and Erik wouldn’t need to use the open anchor line to do it. So he started up to the top floor of the mansion, ended up at the bottom of the staircase that led into the tower and stared briefly at the door at the top of the stairs. He couldn’t remember ever going up there, going through that door. He couldn’t recall ever being told not to, but the mysteries of his own and what he’d realized early on was other people’s minds had occupied him as a child far more than the mysteries of locked doors in his own home.

He started up the dusty, wooden stairs, not even sure if the door he was approaching was unlocked. When he stopped, he reached out, hesitated, then turned the handle and the door fell open with a surprising lack of creak. Maybe the rooms in the tower had been used more than he’d realized. He closed it behind him and switched on the torch he’d thankfully had the foresight to pick up from the kitchen once it had become obvious that the grounds weren’t going to be appropriate for this elaborate game of hide and seek.

Ten more stairs went up before opening out onto a narrow corridor with bare wooden floorboards. There was dust in the air and he was leaving foot prints in the dust on the floor. The corridor was a square, with windows on each side looking out over the grounds to the north and the sprawl of the house to the south.

Another door in the centre opened onto another set of stairs and he climbed them, coming out on a square landing only three by three, with three doors. He opened each of them, finding nothing but dusty junk piled high, boxes and cases, furniture under stained cloth. He chose the room with the most floor space and stepped inside, sneezing once and closing the door behind him. Then he took a deep breath and lifted the shields around the anchor, opening it up, opening his mind to his lover but being careful not to send specific directions.

 _I’m ready_

He felt Erik smile. _Then I’m coming, ready or not._

Charles grabbed one of the cloths covering the top one on the nearest pile of boxes and picked his way over to the small rectangular window, cleaning enough of the dirt from the pane that it let enough light through to see by. Even if Erik was in the grounds staring upwards, it was too small, too high for him to be able to see the movement. He could feel Erik at the edges of the anchor, reaching for him, flexing his mind, starting to use what was temporarily a two way thing. It felt good to have him there, alive and well, even if the simmering anger was almost a constant at the moment.

Dropping the cloth, he looked around the collection of boxes and wondered whether any of his history was stored in this room. This was typical of his parents, keeping only the good, expensive things on show, shoving the rest of it in dark rooms and locking it away. His mom and his stepfather. He had never known his real father. He’d never really known his mom either. A string of nannies and childminders who’d left him sooner rather than later; his invisible yet developing gift leaving them at best uncomfortable, at worst insane.

He lifted the box he’d uncovered down and placed it on the floor, sitting on the boards with his back to the window, cross legged, and reaching in.

 

Erik stood in the ground floor corridor and concentrated on the anchor at the back of his mind. When Charles had first linked he had been everywhere it seemed, flooding his mind with his surprising and terrifying presence. Not for long though, and soon it had all settled to a comfortable point that he imagined was at the back of his head, to the right of his spine. Of course there was no physical place for it, and when Charles talked to him it was more like hearing words that hadn’t been spoken, but he liked to have a point where the anchor was, a place he could protect and shield when he needed to, usually from himself.

Charles' side of the link was quiet, but not blocked. He tried reaching along it, tried reaching for his lover the way he reached out to metal. He got a sense of dust and a height, of old memories. Determinedly, he headed upstairs to the top floor of the mansion.

 

Charles lifted a folder of papers out from the crate, leafing through them. They were faded, some of the typing illegible on the thin sheets of pink and yellow paper. Dumping the pile on the floor next to him, he sat forward and peered inside the box. More paper, most of it faded and dry. But underneath he could see a leather messenger bag near the base of the box. After a little digging, he managed to pull the bag free. It smelled old, musty, the latches were slightly rusty. It had ‘Xavier’ in gold lettering in the centre at the top. This had belonged to his father, his real father, a man he’d never known. He’d been dead almost for as long as Charles had been alive but still the idea of opening it up felt like an invasion of the man’s privacy.

He sat staring at it, running his fingers over the old leather, over the rusted latches. Whatever was in the bag it had been his father’s business, no one else’s, certainly not his. His father would always remain a stranger to him. He’d wondered though, often over the years, whether his father had been like him, a mutant, even though he knew now that it wasn’t something passed on generation to generation. Over the years he’d made up all kinds of stories for his father in his head, kidding himself when he was a child that he was the son of a great man, a fearless scientist, a man ahead of his time.

When he finally made his mind up, he pushed at the latches with his thumbs and found to his annoyance that they were rusted fast.

It was surprisingly frustrating and he couldn’t help reaching for Erik. ::I need you::

Amusement touched his mind. ::Then tell me where you are::

::No:: He got himself under control. ::I know you’ll find me Erik. This can wait::

It could wait. The chances of anything or importance being in the old case were slim to none. It was probably empty.

 

Charles' sudden contact had panicked Erik briefly, but he felt only reassurance and confidence after they had spoken.

He was on the top floor, walking along the corridor checking each room though not visually, touching the link in his mind, knowing Charles wasn’t in any of them. When he ran out of rooms he stopped, looking out over the snow-covered grounds through the window at the end. Charles wasn’t outside, he knew it instinctively; he wasn’t cold, wasn’t wet, and besides he would have left footprints in the fresh covering of snow that had fallen over night.

Still, perhaps the feeling of height was wrong. He dropped his forehead against the glass and found Charles in his mind, finding dust and memories and something else, something new. Anxiety.

::Charles?::

::You can do this, Erik. I have complete faith in you::

It hadn’t been the kind of reassurance he’d been looking for, but the communication told him Charles was all right, at least for the time being. Whatever had happened... maybe it was linked to the memories. He looked around him, wondering if there was an attic. Then he remembered how the mansion looked from the outside; he remembered the tower.

Looking out of the window he worked out where he was in relation to it, where a door might be to gain entrance. When he found it, he put a hand to the wood and checked the link. He knew he was right. He couldn’t have explained to anyone how he knew, he just knew. It felt right. He could feel Charles, he realized, not a voice in his mind, not the telepath’s thoughts or emotions, something more indistinct. Something akin to a homing beacon.

He climbed the stairs in the dark and when he came out into the square, narrow space he could see footprints in the dust by the dim light struggling through the filthy windows. He walked around the square before opening the next door and climbing again, coming out this time in the centre of three rooms.

“You couldn’t have made it harder, Charles?” he called out.

::Pick a door::

Abruptly the link dropped entirely, and where his lover had been there was nothing. One out of three wasn’t exactly difficult odds. But he didn’t want to leave this to chance. He put his hands on each of the doors, trying to find the certainty he had felt when he had found the attic door, but without the link open it wouldn’t come. Telepathy was Charles’ ability, perhaps he had been wrong to assume he could use it.

But he had his own abilities. He could feel the metal in the door handles, in the locking mechanisms, in the latches. Only one had been moved recently. Smiling, he opened it without touching the handle and his triumph died at the sight which met him and the emotions that were laid bare through the anchor.

“Charles?”

He was sitting on the floor holding an ancient messenger bag, surrounded by faded papers. Relief was palpable, sliding off him in waves and it had nothing to do with their little game.

“I need you to open this for me,” he explained.

“Of course.”

“Not here. I need a Scotch.”

*

They sat in the lounge, Charles’ steady hands wrapped around an already refilled crystal whisky tumbler, Erik’s hands wrapped around Charles’. On the narrow glass coffee table between them, the contents of the messenger bag; two legal documents lying open.

One of the documents was his father’s will, leaving the estate to Charles after the death of Edward and Sharon Xavier. That one he’d known about. He'd been at the reading of a copy of it after his mother’s death. The other he hadn’t known about; an adoption certificate. There was a solid black line through his original surname, at least he really was Charles Francis something. His parents, Mary and John, were apparently British, but that was all the information given about them. He had been six months old when he was adopted by the Xaviers.

Erik knew very little about Charles' childhood, about his relationship with his - adopted - parents. His father, Edward, had died six months after the adoption. His mom had remarried a few years later, 'an abusive man' was all Charles had said. Now they were both dead and the mansion, the estate, even the truth was his now.

::It doesn't change anything. I am who I am. And mutation isn't hereditary::

"There's no weakness in needing to know where you came from. But our childhoods didn't make us what we are today. Shaw shaped me, you refined me."

"I love you, Erik. Refining you wasn't what I ever had in mind."

Erik stroked Charles' wrists with the tips of his fingers. "I know it never crossed your mind. That's what makes you the good man you are. Your parents would be proud."

"If I knew who they were..."

He didn't know enough to say anything meaningful about Charles’ adoptive parents, and he wasn't about to insult Charles by offering him meaningless words of comfort. Instead, he released Charles' hands to let him drink his second Scotch, dropping his own hands to his lover's legs, squeezing gently.

"Whatever you need from me, Charles. Whatever I can do..."

Charles finished his drink in one swallow and out the glass down on the documents on the table. Erik watched him shake his head, as if answering a question he had only asked himself.

"It doesn't change anything. I didn't need my parents when I was a child, they didn't need me. It doesn't matter who my real mother and father are; no one needed or wanted me back then. There are children here and out there who are in the same situation I was when I was their age. I can help them, be there for them the way no one was for me."

There was nothing pitying in his voice. He was just matter-of-fact and while it made Erik worry about him not dealing with this the way he suspected he hadn't dealt with anything from his childhood, there wasn't anything he could do right now.

"How did you find me?" Charles asked, effectively changing the subject, and they talked about the next test while Charles folded up the adoption certificate and put it away, in his desk, out of sight.


	12. Chapter 12

  
New Year’s came and went. The mansion had their own fireworks display as Havoc and Dazzler worked together, creating a spectacular show. Charles was happily watching the sky, Erik at his side, an arm wrapped around the taller man’s waist.

He wasn’t surprised to see Riptide next to Azazel, nor was he overly surprised to notice the red tail wrapped around the other mutant’s lower leg like a gentle, discrete embrace.

“Finally,” Erik murmured. “It’s been painful to watch.”

“I think they have found a middle road a while ago. The acceptance of it was the problem,” Charles replied.

“Reading them?” Erik teased as red and yellow exploded over their heads.

“No. Just watching. Azazel is more than we know of him and aside from what he tells us, I won’t ask him many questions. Taking a human as a partner might lead to a loss he doesn’t want.”

::He’s old, Erik:: Charles added telepathically. ::He will probably outlive many of us::

Erik looked at the teleporter, frowning, then dragged his attention back to Charles, who was mesmerized by the light show once more. He leaned over and kissed his lover as blue and red and white stars sparkled above them.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured against the cool lips.

“Happy New Year, my friend.”

* * *

Of course the ‘threat’ of another mind contact wasn’t gone. Now and then the twins lurked at the edge of his perception, as if watching, curious, unable to comprehend who and what Charles really was.

For a long time they didn’t talk.

Charles made the mistake to let his guard down as he dealt with school matters, Emma Frost’s interference into political matters, and he helped out Moira when matters grew dicey. Erik came away with a headache from a blow he had received by one of Emma’s lackeys and Banshee was grumbling about another suit ruined. Otherwise they hadn’t suffered, aside from Erik’s pride, and Frost had gone underground to lick her wounds.

It was right after their return to the manor, exiting the Black Bird and heading for the manor, that Charles felt their touch. It was the expected tidal wave, but he had little defenses left after what they had been through. The little recuperation time aboard the plane hadn’t helped and he had tried to calm Erik, who was furious about not seeing the attack sooner – “He was out to decapitate you. A minor blow to the head is acceptable.” – “I should have seen him, Charles!”.

*Parents?*

One word, loud and sharp in his mind, accompanied by the pressure of needing to know.

Charles tried to get a location of the twins as they established contact once more. They invaded his mind and nearly overwhelmed his last defenses before pulling back, almost apologetic. If he believed they could feel apologetic. They had no concept of right or wrong in that regard. They had never been taught.

::Mother:: he said. ::Father:: He projected the general idea, tried to bring it across.

*Did you have parents?*

::We all have::

They seemed puzzled. Something stirred inside them and Charles waited.

Something flickered. Like a faint image. Two people that seemed familiar, but there was no clear memory.

::You had parents. Before you were alone::

*We are not alone*

::You had others around you, two people who cared about you, took care of you::

Again puzzlement and a stronger flicker, but the image didn’t clear.

*Long ago* the two voices murmured.

::When you were little?::

The memories were wild, chaotic, and Charles flinched back. He felt someone catch him, felt a strong hand at his back, and when he opened his eyes he found he was looking right into the gray eyes of his lover. Erik’s expression was intense, but instead of the anger and furious rage he had expected, there was strength. Charles homed in on the center of calm strength, the anchor point firmly in their minds.

They were in the changing room next to the Black Bird’s hangar. Alone. Apparently the others had left them for Erik to handle this, though Charles caught the faint sensation of Raven and Hank near-by. He reached out with his aching mind and told them he was okay.

Erik brushed a firm hand over his temple, as if trying to find the correct pressure point to ease the pain.

“It was them,” Charles said unnecessarily. “They wanted to know what parents are.”

Dark brows lowered over cold, gray eyes. “They can’t remember,” Erik stated.

“No.”

Charles rubbed his head. The headache, as always, was there, but it was dimmer than the last time. Probably because the contact had been so brief. It was still a lot more pain than he had been ready to handle, right after a case, and he wanted nothing more than to dull it down with medication.

Erik’s long fingers carded into his hair, lightly massaging his scalp to help alleviate the tension headache. Charles let himself fall completely into the anchor, closing his eyes and letting Erik help.

“I wish I could get them to understand, to let me help them more.”

“You can’t.”

Erik leaned back, Charles at his side, his head resting against the other man’s shoulder. It was comfortable and nice, feeling the familiar touch, letting everything just be. He needed this after each contact and Erik provided him with what he needed. He still felt ripples from the twins, but they weren’t reaching for him. And then they were gone, the contact gone.

* * *

Breakfast on weekends was usually a leisurely affair. The children trickled into the kitchen whenever they woke, got whatever they wanted for breakfast, then did whatever they wanted for the weekend. Anna had Sundays off, though she had offered to at least make breakfast. Charles had declined. She wasn’t a servant, she was an employee and she had vacation days and days off. Sundays were generally off.

Coming into the kitchen Charles smiled when he discovered Sean wolfing down a stack of pancakes while reading a comic. Alex was already gone and probably setting up their usual soccer game with a few other kids. Ororo was practicing with a tray filled with water, turning it into ice cubes.

“Mornin’,” Sean mumbled around a forkful of pancake.

“Good morning, Sean.”

The teenager swallowed without chewing much, then gulped down his orange juice, grabbed a bottled water and was off with a wave. Erik moved quickly out of the way. Sean nearly barreled into him and called an apology over his shoulder, then he was gone.

“Soccer,” Charles remarked. With the last snow melting away, helped along by Ororo who was testing her abilities, the boys finally had a playing field outside.

Erik leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Figured as much. What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes, waffles, eggs…” Charles checked what else there was. “Coffee, tea, orange juice. I think I need to talk to Anna about Sundays. She really can’t stop making breakfast.”

“She argues that those are growing kids and they need a good start every day.” Erik snatched waffles and pancakes, then piled eggs and bacon onto the side.

“She isn’t supposed to work on Sundays!”

“It’s not work, Professor,” Anna said as she walked into the room, checking on the amount of food still there. “I love cooking. And I don’t see it as work. You know I’m taking half days twice a week.”

Charles frowned lightly as he made his tea.

“And I don’t see myself as a servant either. You run a good school and these are special children. I love them and I love cooking for them.”

“Anna…”

“Eat your breakfast, Charles,” she only said and shoved a stack of pancakes onto his plate. “You need it.”

Then she was gone. Charles grumbled.

“Do I look skinny?”

Erik, who had already demolished his sizable plate, grinned. “I’m not complaining.”

It got him a glare. Charles didn’t even ask him how he could eat this much. Erik had been raised to eat whenever and whatever, to have a full stomach because there was no guarantee of a next meal. He gave his body the fuel it needed. Charles had never had to suffer hunger or wonder about a next meal, so he followed his habit of a small breakfast and something else later – if he wasn’t too absorbed in work.

Erik was done with his second serving and had inhaled three cups of coffee, already working on number four a short time later, grinning at his lover over the steaming mug.

“Plans?” he asked lightly.

Charles looked up from the paper. “Hm? Oh. Well, office work.” He shrugged. “I’m really behind on a lot of stuff.”

Because Cerebro had knocked him out and he hadn’t been able to concentrate for two days. At least not for a longer time.

“You?”

Erik shrugged, but when he opened his mind, Charles felt himself flush. His cheeks colored lightly and he shifted a little, arousal running through him. Erik grinned more. The last night had been quite intense already and Erik knew his lover was sore, but Charles was nothing if not adventurous.

Two late risers came in, mumbling a greeting, more or less looking like sleepwalkers.

Erik shot Charles another look, smiling suggestively, then took his refilled mug and left the kitchen. Charles felt a little flustered, aware that his body was betraying him.

He didn’t get to concentrate on his work for another hour as Erik showed him just how pleasurable a slow, teasingly tortuous blow job was. Charles kept the connection wide open, letting the other mutant feel what Charles felt.

“Damn, Charles,” Erik murmured when they lay together, both breathless.

The telepath looked smug; breathless and flushed and very, very smug.

* * *

"Why here?"

"Because it's peaceful."

It was cold too. Snow had melted from the last storm, but the threat of another white fall was in the air. Erik looked around, out from the steps across the icy reflecting pool. It was the second time they'd been out here and like the last time the memorial was deserted. They were alone except for each other.

"I know its winter, Charles, but it's a beautiful day and we're at a national monument, a favorite with tourists. Why is it so peaceful?"

Charles smiled as he made himself comfortable on the cold stone steps, folding one leg under him, leaning back and supporting himself on one elbow. Erik followed, thankful of the thick black woollen coat he had fastened up against the biting chill.

"Remember when we found Banshee in that aquarium? His trick with the fish?"

Erik nodded. He did remember, because even back then he had already been committing every moment spent with Charles to memory.

"It's like that, only it's more of a mental sonic boom and it keeps people away."

"Is there no end to your talents?" Erik quipped, but he was impressed and stupidly proud.  
Not that Charles' abilities were his to feel proud about. Charles wasn't his to feel proud about. Not really. Maybe in some small ways; his body, his mind, his heart. Erik smiled to himself, catching Charles' knowing expression.

Charles had had Hank fly them over to Washington DC because he'd wanted a day out, wanted to try something with the anchor, and apparently he'd wanted to try it out here for reasons Erik couldn't fathom.

"I didn't bring the chess board," Erik started, and watched while Charles closed his eyes. "Charles, what..."

He felt the touch at the back of his mind, brief and tantalizing, and closing his eyes also, he reached for it.

::I've opened the anchor line:: Charles told him, words dropped into his mind. ::Try to read me, not just sensations, surrounding, try to read what I'm thinking.::

Erik didn't know how to do that. He could focus on the point in his mind where he perceived the anchor to be, but all he could do was listen, to words and emotions, to sharp sensations; pain and pleasure. The link was silent, and Erik couldn't resist opening his eyes to make sure Charles was still next to him. He was, his blue button-down sweater showing off tantalizing glimpses of the hollow of his throat, red scarf hanging pointless around his neck, lithe body in the large winter coat that he senselessly had unbuttoned despite the temperature, loose fitting jeans against the sandstone colored steps. He was breathtakingly beautiful, hair in free fall over his face, the long line of his neck Erik just wanted to lick his way down to line of blue wool…

::My mind, Erik, not my body:: There was amusement underlying the words.

::I like reading your body:: He closed his eyes again.

::I know, and I appreciate that, but it's hardly training::

Erik could feel warm pulses of arousal coming from his lover, mirroring his own. He followed them to their source, to that point in the back of his mind, and tried to push, tried to go further, tried to picture the anchor point as a two way connection. He imagined flowing down it, the way he flowed into metal when he was controlling it; his ability an extension of himself now, as natural as breathing.

Suddenly there was a bright flash through his head, a painless explosion of white light that seemed for a moment to be surrounding him in noise; voices and thoughts, emotion and sensation. Then it was gone, and he was himself again, no residual light or sound. His eyes snapped open and he met Charles' calm blue gaze. He felt warmth through the leather of his gloves and looked down to find he had reached for Charles' bare hand and was holding it tight enough to stop the blood from flowing.

"What was that?" he whispered, loosening his grip.

"That was me," Charles replied quietly.

"But all those voices, all that noise."

"Everyone else. Even at this distance there are people within mindshot. I taught myself to shield at a very young age. If I hadn't I would have gone insane."

Erik stared at him. He couldn't imagine a young Charles, alone and with barely an idea of what was happening, not knowing that he was different and that his parents didn't have the first clue what he was experiencing; fear and pain, that of others heightening that of his own. Being hit by the adult ecstasy, trying to understand his own body at too early an age; confused and scared.

He had once thought Charles had had it easy as a child; a privileged upbringing, wanting for nothing. Now he realized he was very wrong.

::I'm a fast learner::

"You were alone."

"You were alone too, Erik. But not any longer. Never again. You were in my head, that's very good for a first attempt. But you need to shield too, to find me in all the noise."

He recalled the noise, the sudden, blinding, deafening flash. "How am I supposed to find you amongst all that?"

"You know me, Erik. You could find me in a sea of voices because I'm the only one who can touch you. I'm hopefully the only one you love."

Pulling on Charles' hand, Erik pushed up on his elbow and touched his lips to his lover's mouth.

"Why would I ever need more than you?" he murmured, flicking his tongue over Charles' bottom lip.

He sat back, let go of Charles' hand and closed his eyes again. Again, he sank back in his own mind, searched for the point at the back of his head and focused on it, letting everything else melt away until Charles was all he could feel, all he could hear, all he could...!

"Fuck!"

Erik fell back, shoulder blades hitting the stone steps, uncertain if the cry he heard was his, Charles', or if he'd imagined it. Until he looked across to see Charles sitting up, hunched over, hands at his head. Somehow, he didn't know how, but he was responsible.

"Sorry, God, Charles, I'm sorry."

Sitting up slowly, feeling no residual effects of whatever just happened, he put a hesitant hand on one narrow shoulder and the moment he did he saw himself through Charles' eyes, a bright, vivid memory of what he'd seen when he was in Charles' head; himself, his own face, like he was looking in a mirror but not. He dropped his hand as he felt Charles wince but Charles was shaking his head.

"No, it's my fault. Too reckless, too eager. I should have warned you, or blocked you."

"Are you all right?"

"Just a headache." But Erik knew it was more than just a headache, saw it in the blue rings of his eyes.

"What... What happened? What did I do?"

"You looked through my eyes and saw yourself. That's all. You just weren't expecting it."

Then Erik got it. "I pulled back, pulled... out, too quickly, I hurt you."

"Just... a headache."

Sitting forward, Erik put his hands back on Charles' shoulders and began a gentle massage through the layers of winter cloth.

"It was a shock, seeing myself."

He slipped the fingers of one hand around and down the neckline of his sweater, warm skin against the cold leather of his gloves. He imagined he felt Charles shudder at the sensation, and leaning in, he pushed away the red scarf with his chin and touched a chaste kiss to skin he knew the taste of so intimately, better than any other. Opening his mouth wider, he bit gently, not hard enough to leave a mark, just hard enough to feel Charles shiver under his lips, under his touch.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. When you can shield, when you're used to it, you'll be gentle, careful, and I'll be more prepared."

Erik licked at the place he'd bitten. "You must have known what would happen?"

"Why?"

It was obvious then why he hadn't known. "You've never done this before."

Charles turned his head slightly, hair brushing Erik's face. "There's never been anyone before you, Erik, anyone I've ever wanted to invite into my head."

"And the person you choose is a mutant with a vicious past and a wavering control on his metal bending ability."

"The man I chose is the man I love, the man I trust with my life, my soul, my sanity." Erik felt Charles' fingers at his temple. "Come on, try again."

"I keep hurting you..."

Charles turned, climbing into Erik's lap and resting his forehead against his lover's.

::Come on, Erik. Follow me back into my head.::

Charles' voice in his head had always been somewhat sensual, even the first time in the freezing water the touch had been the most intimate thing he'd ever known. But with Charles in his lap, with the heat of him so close, despite the cold of the day, with him in his mind, he was almost overwhelming. Erik put his arms around him, held him close and closed his eyes, aiming to bring him as close mentally as they were physically. That was the easy part. The hard part was pressing through into Charles' mind, and staying once he'd made it through.

More than anything he didn't want to hurt Charles.

::Don't treat me like I'm glass. Come on.::

Erik pushed, reaching, for the mind he knew well, reaching for the power within it, for the love he knew he'd find. And for a moment he felt it, felt everything, heard everything, that bright light, all-encompassing noise, but it was muted, and when he looked he couldn't see because Charles had his eyes closed so the view of himself didn't shock him. But he felt more vulnerable than he had since he escaped from Schmidt so many years ago, and he knew instinctively that he was unable to do anything more than observe. How he was ever supposed to help Charles if the twins, if any telepath, attacked, he had no idea. But he needed to figure out a way, he needed to learn and he knew Charles could teach him.

When he backed out of his lover's mind he did it gently, raising his hand and brushing Charles' cheek with the backs of his fingers.

::Teach me.::

::I will. We just go slow because this is new to me too. I've never done this before::

"Does it hurt to have me inside your head?" He had to know, but Charles shook his head no.

"It's not you who should be worrying about hurting me, Erik. It's the other way around."

"You wouldn't hurt me."

"Not intentionally, never that but accidentally. I need to train alongside you. I need to be able to control myself without any slips if this is going to happen."

Erik nodded, tilted his head and kissed Charles. "We do this together."


	13. Chapter 13

  
“Only one more time, Erik,” Charles said, voice level and serious. And so damnably calm. “After that I’ll cut them off.”

“Can you?”

His partner looked thoughtful. “There might be a way. I could block out their way of contacting me, though that would also partially blind me in a telepathic sense. Their way of communication is rather unique, so I hope that closing down that… link… won’t hinder me.”

Erik stared at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to cripple yourself because of them!” he exploded.

Charles weathered the emotional storm. “It might be the only way.”

“It’s what we’re training for!”

“They are strong…”

“Fuck them, Charles! I’m not going to let you blind yourself because of these brats!”

Charles reached out, physically as well as mentally, trying to calm the irate man. Erik let him, holding on to the soft presence that could be sharp and deadly if Charles wanted it to be.

“I’ll contact them. On my own terms, with my own demands. One last time. If they don’t accept my help then, I’ll let them go.”

Gray eyes bore into blue ones, daring him to lie, to obfuscate, to make half-hearted promises.

Charles wasn’t lying. He would let this go – after one last attempt.

“I’ll be there,” Erik said darkly.

As his shield, his protection, and Charles wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise.

::They might attack you::

“They already have! You’re not doing this alone ever again!”

It was a vow, an oath, and Erik would keep it.

“Erik, we have trained, yes, but this is…”

“I’m doing it, Charles.”

The telepath pinched the bridge of his nose. “To reach the kind of control you have over your own abilities you trained for all your life, Erik. Doing what you want to do, after just a few months, could wipe your mind. I can’t…”

“You have no say in it, Xavier,” he retorted coldly.

“Actually, I do.”

Erik felt the anchor line come to life, the strength of Charles’ presence flooring him. He stumbled, legs catching on the edge of the sofa and he fell onto it, a hand flying to his head.

“What are you doing?!” he managed.

Blue eyes burned, determined and strong and so unlike the Charles everyone usually knew.

“Push me back, Erik.”

The presence was overwhelming.

“Push.”

He tried. It was impossible. It was like…

 __

_… back in the sub, staring at the man he hated._

 _Metal enclosed him. His weapon, his ability. But he was unable to use it. Every push was used against him, tenfold._

 _A metal beam across his chest, Erik fighting to breathe._

 _Staring into those cold eyes._

 _Hatred flowing through him._

 _Shaw would never get him back. Never._

 _NEVER!_

 

With a cry he flung whatever he had at the invasion of his mind, heard something break, felt something waver, and then there was his cry of pain as the wave collapsed over him and he was curling up on the sofa, tears running down his face.

Someone was there with him, touching him, warm and gentle and taking away the pain and fear.

Erik felt open and raw, like Charles had torn everything he was to pieces and left it for him to pick up.

::They can do that:: Charles said softly in his mind, his fingers chasing away the lingering pain as they caressed his skin. ::Even stronger, more vicious. You aren’t ready, Erik::

Gray eyes burned with a hatred that wasn’t directed at Charles, only at the threat he was facing, at the memories of another time, and his own failures.

“I can’t ever be ready,” he managed, sounding rough and broken. “I’m not a telepath!”

“You’re my shield.” Charles coaxed him to lay against him and Erik gladly fell into the embrace, still shaky and so terribly worn. “I know you can defend me. But so can I. I’m not helpless, Erik.”

“But I am.”

“I didn’t say that. You are my anchor and as such more powerful than anyone else who isn’t a born telepath. But they are fascinated by the connection we share and they will look for you if you catch their attention.”

“I already did,” he snarled. “They nearly killed me.”

“Which is why I won’t let that happen again.” Charles kissed his hair, one hand drawing aimless pattern over Erik’s stomach.

Erik silently thought over the words, replayed what had happened in his mind. Finally his resolution stood.

“Teach me.”

Charles stiffened. “What?”

He sat up, facing the slightly paler-than-normal telepath. “Teach me,” he repeated. A feral grin spread over Erik’s face. “You showed me what you can do. Now show me what I can do about it.”

Xavier sighed. “That wasn’t the plan, Erik.”

He laughed. “Of course not. But you said you know everything about me, Charles. You should have known that showing me a weakness won’t stop me.”

“Well, yes…”

He grinned more. “Then show me how to push back. Show me how to defend myself.”

“You can’t master telepathic defenses without being one, Erik.”

“But I can learn how to last for a while, how to function until I can strike at my enemy.”

“They are not…”

He clamped a hand over the full lips. “They hurt you, Charles. They can hurt me. I won’t sit back and let them do it. Teach me.”

The intense expression in the blue eyes had him nearly drown. Charles was everywhere, not just physically present but also in his mind; deep and simply there, forever linked, a solid, known factor.

It was dangerous.

One thought and he would be gone, his mind wiped, his very life over.

::I would never intentionally harm you:: Charles murmured.

Erik’s hand fell away from the reddened lips. “I know. I trust you.”

::Then trust me that you can never be ready for them::

Erik fought down his anger at the words. He didn’t like being vulnerable, at a disadvantage, but there were mutations out there that he couldn’t face and win against. Like telepaths. Emma Frost had been in his head once; it had been agonizing. She had dredged up an old pain, thrown his torture back at him, had shown him how weak and useless he was. He had been on his knees, his head close to exploding, at her mercy…

Charles smiled slightly as he caught those thoughts. “I would never do this, Erik. Never.”

“I know. But I’m vulnerable.”

“We all are. My mind is my weapon, but physically… I’m no match for you.”

Like years ago, at the beach, tackling him and getting a fist into his face for his effort. Erik was physically a lot stronger.

“You can take over a mind.”

“And it exposes me to attacks from others. No one is perfect. Not even you.” Charles smiled more. “And neither are the twins. Their minds have fused together into one, but they hide because they fear human contact. It pains them. I believe they are so hyper-receptive, anyone else but their respective sibling will bring them to their knees.”

Erik filed that information away for later evaluation.

“Teach me,” he repeated. “Give me a few pointers on how to shield me while I protect you.”

Because I will defend you, no matter what. I’d die for you.

Charles’ expression was torn and he was visibly fighting with that revelation. Of course he had known. Sword and shield. They were both to the other, Erik would protect and he would fight. Charles was no less inclined to risk it all for his partner.

::Charles:: Erik thought directly at his lover. ::It’s the only way. You know it. You know me.::

It got him that infinitely sad and accepting look. ::It will be painful, Erik::

He smiled humorlessly, darkly. “I know pain, Charles.”

And that, sadly, was true, too.

“But it will be me inflicting it.”

He disentangled himself from his lover, settling over the seated man and leaning down for a hard, invasive kiss. He poured everything into it, his love, his trust, his soul.

Yes, it would hurt. Yes, it would be Charles doing it. Yes, he would suffer. But this was for Charles. It was for them. It wasn’t a madman torturing him.

::Shaw inflicted pain to unlock your gift…:: Charles sounded broken, fearful.

“No, no, no,” he breathed between kisses, pushing Charles down, underneath him, wanting him so much. “Never like that. You’re not like him.”

The tears in the blue eyes were heartbreaking. And Erik knew with certainty that he would see them again because Charles wore his heart on his sleeve sometimes, would suffer as much as his anchor would.

“You’re not like him,” Erik repeated, looking at Charles. “I know it for a fact. I’ll know it throughout training. Won’t hate you,” he added, catching a fleeting thought snippet. “I can’t ever hate you.”

Charles’ fingers were running over his face, like mapping every fraction of an inch, carding into his hair, running along one ear. His expression was so intense, like all he did was feel. There was a sensuous brush over his temple and Erik thought he felt small sparkles run over his skin.

The most powerful telepath on this whole damned planet, looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in this world, haunted and afraid of what he could do. Of what Erik would see and what he might kick lose. He knew his past; like Charles. He knew the pain that lurked there, the horror, the loss. It was all there, ready to be released should anyone just delve deeply.

The twins would.

“Charles,” he murmured.

The fingers stilled. The eyes were impossibly wide, the blue shrinking to a mere circle around the black.

“Forgive me,” Charles whispered.

And the avalanche rushed toward him. Erik had a fraction of a second to lurch away, then he was bombarded by a strong telepathic mind that was heading straight for him, heading at his most inner self, aiming for his soul.

He screamed in denial, throwing up his hands. He had no presence inside his head, he wasn’t physically there, but if he had learned one thing from Charles, it was that everything was possible. He felt his powers react, felt metal sing to him and he reached out, using every weapon he had.

His attack was countered and he reeled back, surrounded by the other mind, a psychic force that was like a tornado about to go tenfold its power. It was there, everywhere, waiting, taunting, razor-sharp and unstoppable.

And it moved in.

Again Erik attacked, but again he was pushed back, every punch he threw absorbed into the mind.

Emotions teased him. Memories of long ago. Eating away at his mind, his sanity, weakening him more and more.

The camps.

The cold and the hunger.

The loss. The smell of death and seeing death. Seeing…

“MAMA!”

The gaunt face of his mother, her dark eyes filled with so much love and hope and trust and serenity. Her suffering paled in comparison to what he saw in her eyes. Unbroken, wanting him to live…

And the sound of a gunshot. Her gray dress stained with blood.

The rage. The boundless rage.

He screamed and lashed at the storm, but his pain was simply the entrance for the other mind, finally reaching its goal. He felt it in his soul, his thoughts, breathing with him.

 

And then there was only the room.

Harsh breathing.

Sobs tearing from his throat and deep within him something shuddered and whimpered and curled up. A child. Him. He felt a warm embrace, right down to his innermost self. He fell into those arms, shaking and weak and fraying at the edges.

Nothing could have prepared him for this. Nothing at all. Emma Frost’s touch had been like a spring rain compared to…

::Erik::

He drew in ragged, wet breaths. Became aware of his fingers tangled in a now very distorted sweater vest. His face was buried against Charles’ chest and he was crying, the vest wet with his tears.

Strong fingers ran through his hair, soothing and calm, taking the pain away. He let his lover push the memories back, calm the waves of emotional upheaval, and after a long, long time he raised his head.

What he saw were a pair of troubled blue eyes in a too pale face. Charles looked terrified; horrified.

“I shouldn’t have.”

Erik felt weak and drained, but not too bad. “You did everything right,” he murmured.

And then he saw the room.

Or what was left of it.

“Hell!” he exclaimed, sitting up so abruptly he felt dizzy. “What the fuck…?!”

It was a mess. Everything was… broken. The metal was bent out of shape in everything that contained more than an ounce of it. What wasn’t stuck in the walls was in the ceiling. The door knob looked molten, effectively shutting the door. The hinges were no better.

“You reacted physically,” Charles told him calmly.

He ran an eye over the room, then turned to his lover, checking him for injuries. Aside from looking disheveled and pale and like he would topple over at the slightest breeze, there was no mark on him. He hadn’t hurt him.

Erik fell against the back of the couch, pressing the balls of his hands into his eyes. “Shit, you’re good,” he laughed harshly.

“I’d prefer not to see it as a positive trait.”

Erik lowered his hands, looking at the telepath. “Are you kidding me, Charles? This was… indescribable! I didn’t know…”

“It’s nothing I’m proud of being able to do,” the other man snapped, then closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. ::Forgive me, my friend::

::Nothing to forgive:: Erik rubbed his forehead, sharp eyes on Charles. “So, Professor, what did I do wrong?”

Charles looked up, a thin smile on his pale lips. “You thought in physical terms.” He made a careless gesture that encompassed the whole room. “You used your abilities against an enemy that was only in your head. What you need to learn is to create this in your head.”

“But I’m not a telepath.”

“No.”

“And you can teach me?”

Charles exhaled softly. “In time. Maybe. I never did before.”

Erik smiled darkly. “There’s a first time for everything.”

 

It was how it all started.

The students learned to give the training facilities a wide berth whenever the Professor and Erik were there, training. In the beginning Alex had joked that it was probably just a front for hot sex. Raven had slapped him over the head for it.

They soon discovered it was a lot more. It took everything out of the two men, especially Charles who had never before used his abilities to hurt, to call up nightmares and nightterrors, invading another mind like a bulldozer. Whenever he had influenced someone, it had been a gentle invasion, minimal discomfort, and never a trace.

What they were training for was the opposite.

If Charles had feared that the revelation just how powerful he was would push Erik away, he was wrong. The expression in Erik’s eyes was one of wonder and admiration and an intense love. While he was usually too wasted to enjoy even a quick blow job, the days after were a different matter. A few times Charles was almost late for his classes and the children exchanged knowing looks.

“Oh please,” he muttered, slightly flustered, when those looks became pointed.

But Erik learned. Slowly. He would never be as strong as he was in the physical world, but he was finally getting the hang of projecting what he knew he could do with metal to the mind world.

When he first managed to strike out and Charles retreated, it was like a gold medal feeling. He was insanely proud; as was Charles. The second time was like a rush. The next he couldn’t stop himself from kissing his ‘attacker’.

“Now, Erik, that’s not…”

He shut him up effectively.


	14. Chapter 14

  
Training a psychic power was no less harrying than a physical one. Erik had previously tried to understand just what Charles could do, how he had learned shields and all the neat little tricks he could do – “Tricks? I’m hardly a circus act, Erik.” – but only now did he understand. Well, a little more than before. Since he wasn’t a telepath he didn’t have those abilities and his training was different.

It still left him with headaches, if he was lucky, or migraines, if he was really unlucky. Most of the time he thought he was unlucky.

Trying to sink his fingers into his skull to claw his brains out, Erik sat hunched over in the study, trying to breathe normally, trying not to let the tears fall. He was aware of Charles close by, of the gentle presence that could be sharp and cutting and lethal if he wanted to be. Finally it approached and he tried not to flinch back, instead throwing up a shield as he had learned to do in the past few days. It was nothing but brittle paper that evaporated under the first touch.

::Erik:: Charles murmured.

No pain, just comfort. A gentle, loving presence that soothed and warmed, cooled and relaxed him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, falling against the slender form that was next to him.

Fingers slid between his, pulling the clawed fingers away from his skull. The touch was like water, flowing everywhere, just the right temperature in all the right places, taking the pain and leaving only drowsy exhaustion.

::Too much:: Charles told him.

But he had to learn it! part of him insisted. Pain had always been his best teacher. Pain and fear. It had amalgamated into rage and his powers had exploded out of him, taking all he had and doing whatever he wanted.

::That’s not how it works:: Charles said, repeating what he had said before.

Erik steadied his breathing, feeling memory snippets, thoughts, from Charles and from him, passing through his mind.

Charles wasn’t Shaw. He didn’t train through pain and fear. He didn’t want agony to be the trigger to greater power. This wasn’t about releasing a gift through the terror of death and the pain of metal cutting into his skin.

::You are strong, Erik:: the telepath murmured. ::You have a strong, trained mind. A lot stronger than any other non-telepath I met::

And almost everyone was non-telepathic. Some were empaths, like Hayes.

::Maybe you have a faint predisposition toward empathy or telepathy. But you’re not gifted like that. And creating shields is consuming. It needs finesse::

Like shaping metal. Not hauling big pieces around but the manipulation of tiny needles, coin, paperclips, right down to the sub-atomic level. Charles believed he would master that one day, too.

Erik opened his eyes and found he lay with his head in Charles’ lap, his lover’s fingers carding through his hair, one hand resting on his chest as if to measure breathing and heartbeat. It was a comfortable, relaxing position to be in and Erik felt unable to get up. He was too tired, mentally and physically exhausted, and to his dismay he felt his hands shake.

“You went above and beyond what I thought you would do,” Charles told him.

“Did I hurt you?” Erik asked, voice scratchy and rough.

“No.”

He tried to look into the other mind, clawing his way along the anchor line to make sure. Charles radiated fondness.

“I’m really fine, Erik. I apologize dearly for doing what I did, though. You startled me with your last maneuver.”

Satisfaction coursed through him. He had been thinking of a way to do in his mind what he did physically when he took the metal around him, shaping it to his will and using it as he saw fit. In the physical world he could force any kind of ore to do what he wanted, flow, bend, knot, elongate, shape whatever he wanted it to be… even into shields. So he did just that. He imagined the molecules in his mind and shaped something of a defense.

“Worked, hm?” he triumphed, though it was a triumph with a hefty price.

“Only too well.”

“Whatcha do, Charles?”

“I reversed your attack and hit you fully before I realized just how intensely you had bound yourself to the blow.”

“My mistake then. Needs work.”

Charles laughed softly, sounding tired and just a little on the scared side as well. He leaned over the tousled dark head and kiss Erik’s hair.

“Probably. A lot. But you did beautifully and you did something unexpected.”

“’Gotcha’ is in order.” His eyes slid shut and he felt the thrum of the headache intensify again. “Damn.”

Charles brushed cool finger tips over his skin and the thrum lessened. “No more for today. Your mind needs to recover.”

Erik wanted to protest, wanted to tell Charles that he could take it, that he was up for another round, but a part inside him whimpered and curled up, glad it was over. That part was eyeing the anchor line, wanting Charles close, and his partner slid closer, wrapping himself around the raw open wound that was Erik Lensherr’s mind.

 

Matters didn’t really improve.

Actually, any kind of positive development would have been time to celebrate.

Instead, Erik couldn’t remember a day when he didn’t go down whenever he thought he had this figured out, and it didn’t really take Charles much of an effort.

Even the rage didn’t help. There had been two more communications with the twins and Charles had looked pale and in pain each time, suffering from their razor-sharp way of cutting into his mind while talking. Erik had tried to be there, had tried to shield, but had gotten a migraine for his efforts and had actually been knocked out completely for a while and had come to looking into the worried yellow eyes of Hank and facing the scowl that was Reaper.

He had ignored her, as he so often did.

Charles hadn’t been anywhere, but he had found him later in their room, on their bed, doped up to his gills with pain meds and the room cast in darkness.

He silently slipped inside after toeing off his shoes, padding over on socked feet. Charles’ eyes were closed, his breathing more or less regular. Now and then it hitched as another wave hit him, as his head threatened to explode, and Erik sat down next to the bed. He didn’t want to jostle his lover by sitting on the mattress.

“Don’t be foolish,” came the soft whisper.

He looked into the pale face only inches away from him. “Stop talking. Relax.”

A soft sigh escaped the dry lips. “Erik.”

He felt a gentle touch, fragile and feather-light. Charles was partially numbed by the medication, but no pills would ever be able to dull or completely eradicate such a backlash. He received a thready image and smiled, reaching out and pushing the limp hair out of the forehead.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll be here.”

Charles mumbled something, but he did doze off.

 

Charles was reasonably awake and alert the next morning after having slept for most of the day and all night. He looked more like one of the walking dead, though. Still he insisted to hold his classes, which he more or less managed without zoning out. It was a sign of how much the students respected their professor that they silently did their work and tried not to stress him too much.

* * *

Erik had no idea how Charles was juggling administration, teaching and their training. Well, he did. Charles worked hard, slept little and their personal time together was reduced to falling into bed at night – if they even slept in the same bed. One or another of the students or teachers had found Charles dozing with his head on his desk, over papers and notes, or asleep on the couch, the TV or radio on.

It wouldn’t do. It couldn’t be the solution to it all. Charles was trying to do too much in too short a time.

“You can’t be everywhere all the time, Charles.”

“I already missed a lot of work, Erik.”

“Which was your own fault,” he told him emotionlessly.

The telepath sighed and rubbed one temple.

“Let the others pick up your classes, Charles. Reaper, Hayes and Blu are all seniors. Azazel and Riptide can pick up some slack. I know Riptide enjoys teaching and he can do more than one or two classes.”

“Our training isn’t the most time consuming, Erik.”

“But it stresses your mind and makes you useless for everyday matters,” came the level reply. “Who do you want to turn the school over to? Moira?”

Charles shook his head. “No. But I’ve been thinking of handing over the more… complex book-keeping to an old family friend.”

“Do it,” Erik only said.

“You don’t want to double-check his background?”

He chuckled. “I will. Later. For now I’d be happy to see you relax again. I know the twins are on your mind, literally. You know I hate it and that the training is very important to me. But so are you. You’re the most important part in my life, Charles.”

The expression in Charles’ face was worth it. The wonder and love.

“And the success to anything this big is delegation. Let others handle their share. It took three years to get this running and I’m proud to be part of it. You have help for the house and grounds already. Now a book-keeper. Find someone to share being the headmaster of this place.”

Blue eyes opened, sparkling with an almost evil light. Erik back-pedaled mentally and suddenly cursed.

“I love you volunteering, Erik,” came the smooth reply.

“I’m not headmaster material, Charles.”

“You’ve been doing it for a while now. Five years, actually. Now we make it official.”

Erik smirked. “Do I get a ring, honey?”

Charles laughed. “If you insist, love.”

Placing his hands left and right on the armrests, he leaned over the other man and kissed him softly. “Well, Professor, you have an assistant professor now. I get to kick your ass a new way now, too.”

The sparkle turned mischievous. “Looking forward to it. As for the ring…”

Erik sealed their lips together. ::Don’t you dare, Charles Xavier!” The warmth suffusing him had Erik almost gasp. ::I love you:: he thought.

So very much.

 

By the end of the next day Erik and Reaper had hammered out a new schedule with new teachers. The faculty was now expanded to former students, like Reaper and Hayes, who had only spent two years learning here at all and mostly only trained their powers. Hank still taught computer sciences and mathematics. Reaper’s classes encompassed biology and all life sciences. Raven would be her assistant teacher. Hayes had grinned when she had read over hers. Finances, economics and consumer law were right up her alley, though she had always been on the other side of the law. Erik, with his affinity for languages, decided that French, Spanish and German would help the students. Azazel kept close combat and fencing. Alex and Banshee would be the student liaisons, especially for the younger kids. Riptide had surprised them when he had volunteered for music and art classes, as well as substituting for Spanish.

“He could have asked sooner,” the elemental mutant simply remarked.

“You could have offered,” Erik snapped.

It got him a raised eyebrow. Erik hissed softly. Riptide just leaned back in his chair, looking over the schedule. He made a few notes.

“We can make this work,” Reaper said calmly. “The students understand the changes. It gives Charles the freedom he needs to do what he does best.” She smiled at Erik. “As for talking with the mutants still out there: one at a time and one after another. Charles has to sort through what he has and we go out. All of us seniors. We can make this work, like a real school now.”

Erik felt a weight lift off his shoulders. It would give Charles a lot more freedom to run this place.

Reaper squeezed his shoulder when they left the meeting room. “We should have done this sooner, not waited until now when things are almost too much. You take care of him. Your training is important, for both of you.”

Erik gave her a real smile, warm and thankful.

 

Charles was speechless when they presented him with the changes that would start with the spring semester, staring at Erik, his new assistant headmaster, and his complete faculty.

“No arguments,” Erik simply said. “The school needs this. It needs you in charge, not running off everywhere at once and trying to do it all without help.”

::So I’m superfluous now?:: Charles teased telepathically.

::You’ll never be. You’re the most important part of this whole project.::

“Thank you, everyone,” Charles said out loud. “I appreciate what you’re doing for the school.”

“For you, Professor,” Hayes said, smiling gently. “You showed us there are more of us. You gave us a chance. This school can give that chance to many more.”

Erik briefly touched his lover’s back as he felt the emotions lap against his own mind. Charles was truly deeply touched.

“And it has to be a school,” Reaper added. “Not just teaching them how to handle their powers. Teaching them about themselves and the world, too.”

“We’ve got this,” Azazel agreed, one corner of his mouth lifting into smirk. “You get the rest straightened out.”

The twins. Shadowside Creek. Their work on shields.

Charles nodded. “We will. Thank you. Again.”


	15. Chapter 15

  
“It doesn’t work,” Erik said.

They were sitting outside, enjoying a first day of spring. The snow had melted away and no more forecasts for it had been heard. Charles had chosen a thick coat again, his hands in gloves, a scarf around his neck. He looked flushed from the cold, but not like he was feeling cold.

“It does. You have managed to so much by now, my friend.”

“Don’t treat me like one of the children!”

“I don’t.”

He glared at him. Charles answered the dark expression, the challenge, with a soft smile.

“You are a student of sorts, but not a child, Erik. And I know you can do this. I know you have done a lot already. I’ve told you before that training what you weren’t gifted with is difficult, but not impossible.”

Erik looked out over the mansion grounds. In the distance he could see Banshee working with Greg, who was using his powers of controlling plants to try and grab the other mutant as he twisted through the air.

“None of them could do what you are doing. You’re the only one.”

“Because of the anchor.” It wasn’t a question.

“Mostly yes. But you also have a very strong, structured mind. You have taught yourself control and shields. You have learned to push what doesn’t matter away, compartmentalize.”

Erik gave him a wry smile. “You make me sound like some textbook psychotic case.”

Charles’ expression was mild, amusement mixed with the scolding look of a professor.

“You are not psychotic. Nor are you a textbook case, Erik. You are unique. I know how unique you are and how much you can do. I know your inner strength and it’s impossible to match. I told you before,” he touched his temple with two fingers briefly, “there is so much more to you. That when you can access your power, it will be unmatched by anyone. Even by me.”

Erik gazed into the blue eyes, so deep and serious and without a lie.

“I can never be stronger than you, Charles. You’re an amazing man. I can only be this strong because of you.” He leaned closer, brushing their lips together. A tender contact that lasted barely two seconds. “You are my strength, Charles. You.”

The telepath shivered, one hand coming up to touch Erik’s face.

“We can do this together,” Erik insisted. “You can teach me this. We just have to find out how. I know it can work. I know together we can do this!” He placed a hand over the one cupping his face. “A long time ago I told you something, too. I want you by my side, Charles. Now you’re also in my head. I want you there, too. And I need to be able to protect what I have.” He kissed him, feeling the warmth against his cold lips.

::I can protect myself::

::Yes. But let me help. I can do this. I know I can::

Charles exhaled, warm breath clouding in the cold air. ::I think we have to change the way how I teach you. Maybe I went about this the wrong way:: He gazed out over the grounds, smiling as he saw Greg had caught Banshee and was dangling him in the air. ::Maybe incorporating what you are is even more important::

::And what am I?:: Erik teased.

Charles grinned. ::Obnoxious and annoying and like a dog with a bone::

::I take that as a compliment::

::You can take a hit, but too much will topple you, will bring you to your knees, before you can create the full-strength shield.::

::And you know how to handle that?::

“Give me a little to think about it. I’ll adjust our curriculum.”

Erik snorted, shaking his head.

  


 

Charles came up with a few ideas not much later and they started to try them out. The results were as diverse as the ideas.

And all of them ended with Erik feeling exhausted and like his head was about to explode.

But they found a good mix of several techniques, which had Erik’s spirits lift.

 

Two weeks of rigorous training left marks on both. Not just the physical kind when Erik briefly lost control of his abilities -- something he had prided himself with; control; always – but also on their minds. Erik became more attuned to his lover. A lot more. This was more than anchoring after a bad mission when Charles’ mind was thinly shielded and he needed to let go. It was also more than flowing together as they slept together, their bodies moving to their own dance tune, drawing moans and gasps out of the other, feeling every flicker of need and lust and arousal and the completion.

This was them sharing what Erik knew had always been there; their mindbodysoul. This was perfection.

Wrought from pain and sweat and tears, leaving him crying sometimes, digging his fingers against the cold concrete floor and reining in his instinctual need to remove all metal tubes from the walls, let the wires rip out and tear the world apart.

Two weeks and a few scrapes later Erik felt like this was as good as he could get for now.

“We will continue this,” he told his lover, brushing an apologetic caress over the cut on Charles’ arm.

He had lost it briefly again and shrapnel had hit Charles. It was a minor wound. Charles had mourned the loss of a perfectly good shirt.

“We will,” Charles promised, kissing him.

They were alone in the silent training facility. The metal door was miraculously still on its hinges. Erik slid a hand under the sweater Charles had chosen today, feeling the taut stomach muscles, feeling the shudder of breath. Their lips brushed over each other, licking and nipping, no rush, no burning need, just the tender contact. Erik couldn’t fathom not having this man with him, in his head, in his soul, everywhere. He couldn’t think of a time where Charles wasn’t his partner, his lover, his adorable telepath. And he couldn’t think of himself as anyone but Charles’ anchor.

Parallel worlds be screwed. They had had their shot at this and blew it.

::Maybe not forever:: Charles murmured. ::There is hope. Always hope::

He kissed the slender neck, licking at a tender spot that had Charles’ knees weaken. He bit it.

::Erik!::

He smiled wickedly.

::We should leave:: Charles said. ::Others might want to…::

A thick metal wire stopped him, wrapping around his waist and pushing against the wall.

“Really?” he asked, laughing softly. “Aren’t you a romantic.”

Erik grinned more. “This is a training facility, right?” he said conversationally, letting more metal bands rise. “I’m training.” He leaned in close. “Stop me.”

Charles felt no inclination to do so. He tilted his head, smiling invitingly.

Erik took him up on that.

* * *

Erik stood in the kitchen, barefooted, in dark sweat pants and a very form-fitting, black t-shirt. Raven wouldn’t be a healthy, red-blooded woman if she didn’t have lusty thoughts for a moment. She had only once offered herself to the man and he had told her ‘no’. Back then it had hurt; today she knew she would never have been enough for him. Charles was and her brother had been good for him. Perfect, actually.

Slipping past him she homed in on the coffee, pouring herself a large mugfull.

“You’re up early,” she remarked, a sly smile on her features.

“I could say the same,” he replied, the grin feral and giving her shivers. Good shivers.

“Hank’s working on Cerebro.” She scowled at him. “Which you wrecked.”

“I had a reason.”

“You did it very thoroughly. And you’re not helping.” Another pointed look.

Erik leaned back against the kitchen island, long, lean lines showing in all black. He looked edible. Damn, her brother was one lucky sob.

“I will.”

“When?”

Erik sipped at his coffee, looking over the rim of his mug with a smirk in his eyes. “Hank’s banned me from wielding any metal until the programming for the new version is to his satisfaction. Then I’ll be his work slave until he’s satisfied.”

Raven chuckled. “You sure you want to sell yourself into his service?”

Erik grinned again. “I think Hank will very gladly have me gone as quickly as possible.”

“You can say that again.”

The shapeshifter opened the fridge and browsed through the contents. She made a triumphant noise and pulled out the leftover cream pie Anna had made. She dug into it with gusto. Erik watched her, already on his second cup of coffee.

“Pregnant?”

Raven nearly choked on the last forkful. “What?” she blurted. “No! Damnit, Erik!” She wiped cream from her lips. “I’m not! Geez! Way to start a rumor, jerk!”

He smiled widely, showing white teeth.

Raven poked the fork at him. “You’re an asshole, Erik.”

He moved one finger and the fork sailed out of her hand and landed in the sink. “Got that right. So, not?”

“No!”

“Good to know.”

“Now how about you get back to my brother before he comes traipsing in here, getting stupid ideas.”

“About what?” a sleepy voice asked.

Charles looked sleep-tousled, hair messy, the shadow of a beard on his jaw, and dressed in very un-Charles-like dark blue pajamas. Raven wondered where the Striped Horror had gone to. If she knew Erik, and she did by now, he had finally convinced his partner to throw it back into the deep closet it had come from.

“Nothing!” she sang and quickly made an exit, shooting Erik a warning look.

Charles yawned, looking for tea and finding none. Erik smiled fondly and held out the coffee.

“Thanks,” came the answer and Charles drank the rest of the mug. While he preferred tea, he didn’t say no to coffee when he was half-asleep. “So, what was that about?”

Erik shrugged. “Nothing.”

Blue eyes sharpened. Erik felt a slight poke at his mind and he pushed Charles back. ::Uh-uh, no cheating::

::Stop me then::

The poke was more insistent, coming closer, and he moved away, bringing up shields. Charles pushed harder, with more force, and Erik finally stood his ground. The telepath regarded him, blue eyes awake and intense, and then he struck.

Erik slipped.

One hand went to his head, the other grabbed the kitchen counter for balance. An arm came around his waist and Charles’ sharp presence became a soothing caress on his mind.

“I apologize, my friend,” he whispered.

“Damn, and I thought I had this figured out.”

Charles chuckled. “You have. You’ve gotten better.”

“Not good enough.”

“Erik, we’ve been over this…”

Charles was so close, pressed against him, all pliable and warm and caring.

“I know, I know. I’m no telepath. I can’t be more than I am.”

“Exactly.” Charles smiled at him. “And you are very good. But trying to hide something like Raven’s sweet tooth and your tease about her being pregnant...?”

Erik laughed, shaking his head. He kissed his lover, feeling the stubble scratch over his clean shaven skin.

“She’s right about Cerebro, though. It’s wrecked and we need it.”

The taller mutant tensed, jaw clenching.

“Erik, please. There will be safety measures. Lots of them. Nothing like this will ever happen again.”

“It better not,” Erik hissed. “Or it won’t ever be rebuilt!”

Charles rested a hand flat against his chest. “It will be safe. I promise.”

He held the cold, gray eyes; unafraid of the dark emotions lurking behind, the destructive power they promised would be unleashed upon the new brainwave scanner should this backfire.

“I promise,” he repeated. ::Calm your mind, Erik:: Charles added telepathically. ::Please::

And he was there. In his mind. As Erik was used to him. Whole and calm and warm and perfect. He embraced that warmth, held it tightly.

::I love you:: he whispered. ::So damn much. I don’t want to lose you, Charles. Not to this!::

Charles slipped his arms around the other man, held him tightly. ::You won’t::

Not to Cerebro. Hank would make sure that the new version would be perfectly safe, that no one could come from the outside. Erik knew the scientist would keep his word, but his own inability to influence the device, to be there for Charles, made him edgy.

Their lips met in a soft, reassuring kiss. Charles caressed the unshaven cheek and Erik leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

There were no guarantees.

Ever.

Not in their lives.

Erik had lived with the instability of his life ever since he had been dragged from his home in Düsseldorf, had been brought to the camp; ever since his parents had been killed. With Charles he had found stability and a balanced life. He had found love, something he had never thought would be possible.

He protected that. With force, if necessary.

Charles was privy to those thoughts and emotions and he smiled softly. There was nothing he could say, no real promises he could make to keep; he could only let Erik know what he felt and the metalbender was very much aware of that.

It had to be enough; even if he didn’t like it.

  
tbc...


	16. Chapter 16

Initiated by Charles, the contact was a lot less sharp and serrated at the edge. It was like approaching a tiger wearing chainmail; protection, but still not adequate.

Erik was only a watcher, connected to Charles, seeing and hearing what he did, but without true weapons to intervene. He was a shield and he could protect, that was about it.

::You can’t keep on contacting me like this:: Charles told the twins.

Their presence was distant and Erik couldn’t make out a shape or face. They were shrouded, protecting themselves against others, but still curious. They wouldn’t drop their own shields, but they demanded a lot of Charles.

::I know I could help you if you let me::

*We have always been*

Erik couldn’t make much of the eddies he felt at the edge of his own mind, but Charles apparently could.

They had always been alone, his partner translated for him. They wouldn’t trust anyone. They would always be together. It was all they knew and understand.

::I can teach you::

*No*

::Wouldn’t you want to know who you are?::

*We are like you*

No, they weren’t. Charles told them that, echoed by Erik.

*We are like you* they repeated.

Erik growled and pushed closer to the point of contact. ::You’re fucking not!::

The twins were silent, pondering that.

::I could teach you:: Charles repeated his offer. ::If you let me. If you told me where you are::

More silence.

::It’s the last time we will talk like this:: he stressed.

*Why?*

::They way you contact me hurts::

They didn’t understand. Of course not. For them it was normal, but another telepathic mind could be easily overwhelmed. A lesser telepath would have turned insane, his mind maybe wiped.

Erik felt them approach and neatly inserted himself between Charles and the twins. For a second he thought he saw the monster, the impossible creation in the physical world, now protecting and defending on the mind plane as well. He steeled himself, unwilling to let them take over and scare him.

*We leave* they sent.

Charles pushed against Erik, but Erik didn’t budge.

::Please:: He pleaded once more. ::You’re not alone!::

*We are not*

Because they had each other. They had always been together. They would always be together. They had no concept of being with other humans.

Their presence retreated and Charles wanted to go after them, but Erik held him back.

::Their decision:: he said coldly.

::Erik…::

::Their. Decision. Accept it, Charles!::

On the mind plane there was no physical form, only a perceived presence, a representation of the mind. Erik had no hands with which he held his lover; he wasn’t looking into blue eyes filled with need and desperation to help, to be there for the less fortunate. But in his mind he could see all that.

Charles stepped back and pulled Erik with him into the real world. He looked pale, lines of pain around his eyes as the headache hit him again, and there was an infinite sadness reflecting in his eyes.

“You can’t save them all,” Erik said softly, pulling him close.

Charles let him, not even fighting the strong arms around his slender form. There were tears that had nothing to do with pain and everything with the loss he felt at having the twins turns away.

“They are so strong, Erik. They could be so much. We could use them as allies.”

“If you couldn’t get them to come out of their hiding place, no one else can. I doubt Emma Frost will want them for the Hellfire Club.” Erik smiled darkly. “They’d scare everyone to death. And she wouldn’t be as kind as you were. Nor is she as strong as you.”

Erik felt the old pride swell again. Charles Xavier was powerful and he was his partner. Frost could go screw herself. She wouldn’t last a minute against the twins.

Charles sighed, resting his head against Erik’s shoulder. The other mutant felt the faint echoes of the headache and massaged the tense neck, feeling the muscle knots under his fingers. Charles clenched and unclenched his hands into the black turtleneck, fighting the disappointment and the lingering echoes of such a sickly contact.

The last one.

Not again.

“You were good,” Charles murmured, not looking at him, still holding on.

“Hm?”

“Shielding. You’re really good. A natural.”

Erik grinned. “I have something to lose. I protect what I love.”

Warmth flooded him, leaving him reeling for a second. Charles’ affection was strong, his love mind-blowing. His emotions tended to hit Erik out of the blue, despite knowing the other man for so long now; all of his new life. Their life.

“And I had a good teacher,” he added cheekily.

Charles laughed. It was more of a snort, but it was amusement and he looked up, some of the pain lines receding. Erik ran gentle fingers over his lover’s temples.

“It’s over.”

“Sadly, yes.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you want to go back to Shadowside Creek.”

“Then I won’t.”

Erik’s lips became thin lines and he bit back on his immediate reaction to snarl and bite and yell at the other man. Instead he collected his emotions.

“Really?” he asked coldly. “After everything? Or do you want to take up skiing?”

“No. I just want to…”

“Look one more time? Find a few tidbits of information? Find their hiding place? You won’t. They’re gone, Charles! I destroyed their home and they are somewhere in the wind.”

Charles was silent, then finally nodded. “I know. I understand.”

“Do you?” he prodded.

The telepath smiled humorlessly. “Despite general opinion of everyone else in this house, I do know when it’s time to let go of matters.”

Erik chuckled. “Since when?” he teased.

“Starting now.”

He drew him into a kiss, savoring the soft contact, the way Charles melted into him. He needed this, always. Especially after such an intense contact. The anchor was more than a connection between minds; it had a very physical component as well that both men liked to exploit sometimes.

“How bad is it?” Erik asked when they separated.

“Not bad enough to warrant meds.”

“Hm.”

“Maybe a bit of fresh air.”

He glanced outside. It was still light, but dusk was arriving

“Get dressed,” he told the telepath. “We’ll take a walk.”

 

And they did. In amicable silence, bundled up, the cold air doing wonders for Charles.

* * *

The domed room had been cleared. New panels had been shipped in after Erik had destroyed them, a new platform ordered after Erik had twisted it beyond repair. Hank had written new control software with a whole raft of new safety features, alarms and cut-outs that Erik wanted fully tested before he allowed Charles anywhere near the damned helmet.

Hank must have caught him staring daggers at the bank of computers that controlled the input and output, that used Charles, his Charles, as an energy source, a battery, nothing more than what it needed to function. It was perhaps an overreaction to something Charles willingly chose to use, and used to good measure, but it didn't mean Erik had to like it, even if he understood.

"It's perfectly safe," Hank said from his standing position on the platform, and Erik turned to stare at him in much the same way he'd been regarding the heart of the machine.

"It put Charles into a coma," he replied, tone flat but nevertheless with a clear warning behind the words.

One Hank didn't hear, apparently. "Technically, the other telepaths did that, Cerebro is merely a tool...." He finally had the good sense to stop talking.

"If it happens again, I'll make sure this thing can't be rebuilt, do you understand that? I'll bring the house down on top of it if I have to."

From his expression, Erik was glad to see that Hank knew he didn't make idle threats.

"Charles Xavier means more to me than my own life. If anything permanent was to happen to him, I would take revenge on the perpetrator, be it a man, woman, child or machine."

Hank nodded, quickly and obviously slightly scared. Erik did nothing to reassure him. He still remembered the first time, back when his interest in Charles was purely based on what he could do to get Erik close enough to Shaw to kill him. Still, hadn't there always been something more? He remembered standing in the first model of Cerebro at the CIA's facility, watching Charles step up, volunteer to give the machine access to his mind when he had no idea of what it could do to him. Erik had called him a lab rat, albeit an adorable one, and the only response Charles had to that insult, to that questioning of his abilities from a man he'd known barely 36 hours, was to ask him politely and somewhat playfully not to spoil it for him.

Maybe he'd fallen a little in love with him that morning, maybe he'd been falling in love with him from the first moment he'd felt Charles in his head.

In his mind, Charles was still playing the part of lab rat when it came to Cerebro and Erik didn't like it. But he had to accept the part that the machine played in locating others of their kind and until the twins had come along the worst Charles had suffered was a migraine.

"What do I need to do?" Erik asked through almost gritted teeth, and Hank was still hesitant when he started to point out where the new panels had to go and Erik started to shift them several at a time, screwing the bolts in place without lifting a single finger.

"Tell me about the failsafes," he said as he worked, and it wasn't a request.

"Well, Cerebro measures the stresses in Charles' mind and shuts down the helmet if they rise above a specified level. As well as that, the helmet itself has a cut out if the levels change sharply. If Charles is suddenly overwhelmed the same way he was before, the connection will be closed down."

"Why not just cut the power?"

"That would be the same as simply pulling the helmet off his head. If we don't close the connections between Charles and Cerebro neatly, he could be... injured."

Erik heard in his mind the words Hank avoided using; brain damaged. Again he was reminded how dangerous this machine was, how deeply Charles connected with it and how easily it could kill him. Not for the first time and definitely not for the last he questioned whether or not he should be assisting in rebuilding it. Charles kept insisting that they needed it but Erik isn't convinced. Word of mouth had started to spread, albeit slowly and thankfully only to those it needed to reach. Charles' handiwork on the beach in Cuba years ago had kept them safe.

Erik's thoughts moved to the other Charles, as they often did, the parallel of his lover; a lonely, injured man, Charles but not Charles. Still, when he let himself care, it bothered him that there was a version of the man he loved out there, even if he was a barely possible thing, who hurt every day. It made him want to love his Charles more, as if that could make up for his parallel self being a self-absorbed, blind, arrogant and irresponsible asshole.

And that was why he continued to rebuild Cerebro that afternoon, because Charles wanted the machine fixed and he would do anything, kill or die, for Charles.

::I'd much rather you lived for me::

He felt strong arms encircling his waist and long, sneaky fingers brushing over the front of his trousers. It was so real that it momentarily took his breath away and one of the panels missed its anchor point and dropped a couple of feet before Erik caught it and placed it where it belonged, attaching wires and screwing in bolts, concentrating while Charles did his best to distract him. He was used to Charles picking up stray thoughts and feelings by now, it made him smile to know that Charles was listening, even when he wasn't in the same room.

::I'm trying to fix your damn machine.::

::And getting angsty about it.::

::You know how I feel about this thing. I'll never like it, Charles.::

::I accept that. Yet you still help.::

::Would I ever hear the end of it if I didn't?::

He felt Charles' laughter in his mind and smiled too, more panels flying into place, metal securing them. He felt the whisper of Charles' fingers over the front of his turtleneck, the ghost of his breath against his neck. ::I love you.:: Then he was gone with the hint of a promise left in Erik's mind.

* * *

Erik found Charles in his study later on. The sun was setting on another cold day, Cerebro was back in one piece, only the testing of Hank's new failsafes was stopping Charles plugging himself back in to the infernal machine. But Erik didn't want to think about that tonight. He was still half-hard from his lover's telepathic touches earlier and all he wanted was Charles' hands on him for real.

He closed the door behind him and walked forward, locking it behind him with a thought as Charles raised his head and put down his pen. He watched him lean back in his chair with a smirk.

"Erik."

"Charles."

Slowly walking around the desk, Erik perched on the edge of it, folding his fingers against it. He made sure blue eyes were fixed on his before unzipping his trousers slowly without touching. "Ready to make good on that promise?"

Charles grinned, said nothing but wheeled his chair in front of Erik, fingers slowly sliding into Erik's open fly. Erik's breath hitched, his hands found Charles' face and he leaned down to kiss him.

::I wasn't serious.::

Charles pulled away gently. "I am."

Pushing Erik back slightly, Charles wheeled himself forward and slid his mouth down over Erik's rapidly hardening dick.

Oh yeah, he had been serious all right!

For now he pushed thoughts about Cerebro into the back of his mind. And then he forgot it all completely as Charles’ skillful tongue and fingers teased and caressed and sucked him, bringing him to completion.

* * *

The first time Charles stepped into the latest version of Cerebro, a completely new and utterly rebuilt from scrap version – thanks to Erik’s little outbreak – it was like walking into something shiny and new. The room was still spherical, still had no features aside from the chair, the railing and the helmet, but it was different. It felt different. It was… no longer what had been before.

The chair looked comfortable with its black, fake leather cover. It was high enough to support Charles’ head. A ramp led up to it and Erik felt like walking to an execution.

::Erik:: Charles whispered, highly aware of the state of his partner.

Lensherr was so tense, his muscles were close to snapping. He was fiercely present through the anchor line, shielding Charles as if they were facing an enemy.

In a way Erik was. Cerebro had never been his most favorite tool at their disposal and probably never would be. It was a torture instrument, plain and simple, and since no one but Charles could use it, it was even more of a sore in Erik’s eyes. If they could work without it, he would have refused to rebuild the room.

The helmet had changed. It looked more elegant, like a streamlined version of the clunky thing with the wires Hank had first constructed. Still, it was the access point to Charles’ brain. Once connected, no one and nothing could interrupt.

Erik hated it.

There was nothing he could do to protect the one thing that meant more to him than his own life.

Charles’ mind flowed around him, stroking, caressing, calming. Erik wanted to bite and snap at the familiar, wanted presence, but he couldn’t. Charles was simply… there. One hundred percent. Solid and real and so much what the other mutant needed.

Hank carefully followed them, a nervous look in his eyes. He had done everything Erik had insisted he put into the new model. There were safety measures to the hilt, up your eyebrows, through the roof. One wrong signal and the whole thing shut down.

Still…

“Erik, trust me,” Charles said, his voice, while soft, unnaturally loud in the dome.

He looked into the blue eyes, sincere and deep and filled with such a strength, Erik was breathless. It was something easily forgotten when looking at the telepath: his strength. His will. Everything down to his core that made Charles Xavier such a powerful person to behold. Mild and sometimes rather soft-spoken, more like a stuffy professor and absent-minded scientist, Charles could strike out and just be there, fell anyone in his path, influence their minds, make them do his bidding. Erik knew that power, but he had yet to actually see the end of it.

Charles was developing, evolving his abilities, just like his students.

“I do,” he finally said.

The smaller man smiled slightly, then reached out with both hands and framed Erik’s face. Thumbs brushed over the slightly stubbled cheeks. It was an intimate gesture, meaning so much more than a lover’s caress.

::It won’t ever happen again::

::You don’t know that! Another telepath or something like those twins and you could be worse than in a coma, Charles!::

::We need Cerebro::

::I need you::

Charles closed his eyes. ::I know. I need you just as much. But this is my ability, Erik. It’s what I do::

Erik took the smooth hands, trapping them between his own. “I trust you,” he said softly. “It’s the machine I don’t trust.”

“Hank incorporated all safety features. With back-ups. This is only a trial run.”

“And then you’ll be back in here.”

“Only when I need to be,” Charles promised. “No more free-style action.”

The gray eyes, hard as granite, looked unrelenting, but finally Erik nodded. He glanced at Hank, who had been trying not to watch, had melted into the background, and now appeared like he wanted to be anywhere but here. For a mutant whose inner beast had come outside, who had a temper that was held in check only by his good upbringing, and a brain that had yet to find a rival in the world of science, he was still rather fearful of Erik himself.

Erik stepped back, releasing Charles to walk toward the chair. He gracefully sat down and took the helmet, which rested on a pad in front of him. The metalbender tensed when his lover put the connective device onto his head. His fingers flexed and he felt every single molecule of the helmet, felt the wires, felt the electrodes.

::Relax:: Charles whispered. ::I’m fine. Erik, please…::

He tried to find that place between rage and serenity, that moment of utter stillness and peace, the place where his full power rested, at his beck and call, so incredible that tapping into it had him feel like there was no limit. It was a place Charles had shown him, it was a place he had been only with Charles. It was Charles.

Cerebro hummed to life.

Erik forced himself to walk toward the chair, around it so he could look into the calm blue eyes, and his fingers flexed around the railing. The metal was like liquid to him, ready to be shaped, and he already felt molecules arrange themselves.

::Serenity:: Charles said softly, holding his gaze.

The molecules flowed back to their original positions. A smile graced the telepath’s smooth features. Then he closed his eyes and sank into the depth of Cerebro, let the machine take him on a ride that Erik had never been able to follow.

At the edge of his perception he felt the rush his lover experienced, saw shadows of what Charles saw, and he readied himself should anything happen.

Anything at all.

*

Coming out of Cerebro the first thing Charles felt and saw was Erik. Gray eyes, filled with so many emotions that were so incredibly tightly controlled, it had to hurt. The narrow face, sharply cut, pale and mask-like. Hands clenching around the rail in front of the chair, knuckles white, the power Erik wielded coiled to strike. Every molecule was trembling under this power. The whole room thrummed with what Erik Lensherr was and could do and would do if things went wrong.

Charles reached out with his mind while placing a strong hand over the tense knuckles of his lover.

“I’m okay,” he said, wrapping his mind around Erik’s sharp presence.

It was like touching glass. Rough, serrated edges, ready to hurt, ready to cut and bring pain. He ignored it all, his own mind accustomed to what Erik was. He would never be anyone else and Charles was in awe over that strength, that power, that much potential. He felt Erik relax, the spikes retreating, the tension flowing away, and the anchor line hummed to life.

Charles felt a slight headache, his shoulders and neck aching more than he was used to. The brain was a muscle, he had told others. You could train it. He hadn’t trained for a while.

Erik brushed his fingers through the wavy hair, thumb caressing one temple. Around them the dome seemed to settle, like breathing a sigh of relief as the metalbender released it.

“Nothing happened,” Charles murmured.

A kiss ghosted over his forehead, then Erik leaned back again, the tension almost gone. Charles placed the helmet onto its pad and got out of the chair. His partner was there, right next to him, a powerful presence and someone who still didn’t approve. Charles sent a brief thought at Hank to tell him he was okay, that things worked fine. Then he was fully there for Erik.

Erik, who was watching him like a hawk. Erik, who was a strong, unyielding presence through the anchor line. Erik, who seemed to want to say so much and didn’t lose a word.

Charles’ fingers ghosted over the black sweater, playing with the hem, then were caught by the long fingers of the other man. He was pulled against the strong chest and Erik buried his head against Charles’ neck, eyes closed, exhaling softly.

Neither man said anything. All that was there were emotions, flowing back and forth like the tide through their connection.

“I feel like having a nice glass of scotch now,” Charles murmured.

Erik raised his head and chuckled, the tension breaking slowly. “I thought tea would be more up your alley.”

“Spike it with scotch and I agree.”

“Headache?”

“A little. Nothing bad.”

Erik studied the pale features, took in the lines of a beginning headache, and kissed the soft skin of one temple.

“Scotch it is.”

*

Charles lay on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, enjoying the sense of closeness from his lover. Erik was fully open to him, anchoring him like they had just come out of a battle against a strong telepath. His headache had already eased without the help of a pill and he simply let himself drift.

The spiked tea had helped, too.

“Is this going to be a problem?” he asked, breaking the mutual silence.

Erik sighed and murmured, “No.”

“You don’t have to like it, just accept the necessity, Erik. We can’t work without Cerebro. The new version is safe enough.”

“It will never be safe enough, Charles. Never.”

“As is flying or driving or working with any of our students, Erik.”

The other mutant was silent, running a mindless caress over Charles’ neck and back. Charles enjoyed the soft strokes. Being a telepath was dangerous already. Losing himself in a mind was always a danger. But Cerebro was safe. What had happened had been an accident and it had been unexpected because no one would have thought that another mind could actually backtrack Charles through the system.

They had to put this behind them, had to go on with their lives, continue their work. For now they had enough information to work with, find mutants world-wide. Hank would continue working on Cerebro, the safety measures, the fine-tuning. Charles saw no reason to use the machine any time soon.

Dark satisfaction floated through him, coming from Erik’s side of the very open connection. He interlaced their fingers and surrounded the other man’s mind with his own.

They would be fine.

All of them.

New cases would intervene with their lives and the regular school schedule. The White Queen would make their lives troublesome. Students would screw up throughout training, blow things up, create a mess. New mutants would arrive, some staying, some leaving again.

Charles would always be there, and with him Erik. Because there was no other place for him than by his partner’s side.

Sword and shield.

Business as usual.


End file.
